


The Dog Companion

by lola381pce



Series: Dogs are our link to paradise [3]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel 616, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D Cameos, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Amputation Pain, Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Clint Barton & Natasha Romanov & Sam Wilson Friendship, Clint Barton & Natasha Romanov Friendship, Dogs, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Ex Army Ranger Phil, Fear, Flashbacks, Hard of Hearing, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Marvel Cameos, Medical Trauma, Mention of Loss of Limbs, Not Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. Compliant, Pain, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Phantom pain, Phil Coulson & Maria Hill & Nick Fury friendship, Phil Has Scars, Phil Needs a Hug, Photographer Clint, Photography, Physical Disability, Scarring, Serious Injuries, Service Dog Agent, Service Dogs, The Dog Soldier!Phil, Wire-haired Pointing Griffon, mention of PTSD, thedogblogger!Clint
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-10
Updated: 2017-08-25
Packaged: 2018-06-02 16:23:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 34,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6573430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lola381pce/pseuds/lola381pce
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Agent is a dog companion; a service dog, an unusual service dog by all accounts...she's deaf. Her disability however doesn't stop her from taking care of her charge, Phil an ex-Army Ranger with PTSD or his mate Clint, a photographer who runs 'thedogblogger' site. Yes, mate. They might not know it yet but Agent does; she’s the one who brought them together after all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Lullwater Bridge

**Author's Note:**

  * For [isisanubis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/isisanubis/gifts), [howdoyourespond](https://archiveofourown.org/users/howdoyourespond/gifts).
  * Inspired by [thedogblogger](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6038257) by [lola381pce](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lola381pce/pseuds/lola381pce). 
  * Inspired by [The Dog Soldier](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6446428) by [lola381pce](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lola381pce/pseuds/lola381pce). 



> This is the follow-up to thedogblogger and The Dog Soldier.
> 
> Written for isisanubis who started the ball rolling by prompting thedogblogger (thank you so much for the idea and for your encouragement) and for howdoyourespond (thank you for keeping me motivated with all your inspirational comments and for bringing the stories to life with the wonderful edits that accompany the series) and for Jody, who was the real-life inspiration for Agent, The Dog Companion.
> 
> I'm going to release this story in chapters to capture the development of Phil and Clint's relationship. Not sure how many yet but at the moment it looks to be about six. Rating and tags may change as the chapters progress...

“So you decided I’m not some weird stalker then?”

“I haven’t decided anything yet...but I’d...like the chance to try.”

Clint holds out his free hand, "Hi. I'm Clint, **thedogblogger**."

Phil puts the tray down and takes Clint's hand in his own. "Phil, and I guess I'm The Dog Soldier."

The two men stare at each other for a few moments, hands remaining clasped in greeting, eyes conveying that which words cannot. There’s no mistaking the attraction between them; a stranger passing by would sense it.

Contact like this is unusual for Phil. He doesn’t like to be touched - painful associations - but several weeks ago when Clint held out his hand and Phil accepted it (albeit with a brief hesitation) he found he didn’t mind it so much. At least not with the man standing before him.

What’s even more unusual is, this time he's removed his glove. He doesn't do that with people he doesn't know or trust. Ever. He can feel the warmth of Clint's skin, the callouses on his palm (interesting) and the broad silver rings on two of his fingers (his rather strong and somewhat sexy fingers Phil notes with more than his interest piqued). The contact gives him a tingle of anticipation that makes his heart beat a touch quicker. The corner of his mouth turns up in a little half-smile. He likes it. Very much.

His smile widens at the grin on Clint’s face that he’s trying so hard to hide. That gorgeous crooked grin and his apparent shyness probably shouldn’t be as captivating as they are...but dear god they are! He’s never experienced anything like it before; the fluttering in his stomach, the dryness of his mouth and the inability to keep the stupid smirk off his face. Fuck! He feels like a love-sick teenager….probably. When Phil was sixteen he was too busy being an asshole. A joint smoking, car-jacking, know-it-all asshole but he’s pretty sure this is what a love-sick teenager would feel like. And he’s undeniably hooked.

It suddenly strikes him he’s been holding onto Clint’s hand far longer than is appropriate and with the slightest squeeze, lets it go. Now he feels like some sort of creeper and doubtless Clint thinks that too. A burst of insecurity hits him and he can feel heat spreading across his cheeks making the tips of his ears glow. He ducks his head, not sure what to say.

Neither is Clint. Much like Phil, he can’t keep himself from smiling. He’d more or less given up all hope of seeing adorable park guy again believing whatever had spooked him all those weeks ago would have kept them from meeting up again. He’s glad he’s been proved wrong though. He’s never been happier than when he looked up to see the ex-Army Ranger standing across from him all blue eyes, sexy dimples and stubble. Damn, he’s gorgeous!

He feels a little pressure on his hand and suddenly it’s been released. Shit! How long was he holding on to it? Mr Adorbs...no Phil...must think he’s a weirdo. Truth is he doesn't know why but it’s comforting having his hand in Phil’s. Reassuring even. Like coming home. How is that even possible?

Suddenly shy at the thought, Clint takes another sip of his coffee and looks at Phil over the rim of the cup. The other man’s head is down as he stares at his own coffee. That faint blush covers his cheeks and the tips of his ears. Fuck but that’s seriously hot!

“Thanks for the coffee. You called it right.”

Without looking up Phil smiles and nods. He takes a mouthful of his own.

The silence between them isn’t awkward as such but Clint still feels the need to fill it. He wants Phil to know he is capable of intelligent conversation as well as the inane drivel he spouted the first time they met. He sticks with coffee as his subject matter. Should be safe enough.

“In fact, my taste in coffee is kinda the same as my taste in men...strong, smooth and as hot as possible. I kinda like that combo in my mouth.”

Phil chokes and nearly spits out his drink.

“The coffee! In my mouth...not the… The coffee I mean!” The fuck?! Horrified, he snaps his mouth shut and takes another gulp giving himself a mental facepalm. Seriously! How could he do so badly with coffee? It’s _coffee_ for fuck sake and he’s turned it into some sort of weird sex act. Completely mortified Clint closes his eyes, drops his head forward and sighs heavily.

Phil recovers first and thankfully, doesn’t appear to be offended - probably more amused than anything. He tilts his head and looks at Clint with raised eyebrows. “Pity. I was going to take it as a compliment.”

Clint flicks his eyes up to glance at him, searching for any signs of ridicule. Seeing nothing but a mischievous glint in Phil’s eye, he responds optimistically, “Yeah? Good. I’d’ve meant it that way.” Under his breath he mutters, “With you anyway. Sure as shit not how I’d describe myself.”

But apparently, he’s not quiet enough. The other man smirks over his own cup at Clint, deepening the crinkles in the corner of his eyes and tells him, “I don’t know...two out of three isn’t bad. You could try a little harder at being hot, I guess. You’ve obviously nailed smooth.”

Clint snorts out a laugh. Maybe he should let Phil take over talking for now seeing _his_ mouth isn’t trying to sabotage their relationship before it even gets started; unlike his own apparently.

The ice having been well and truly broken by Clint’s stupendous faux pas, the older man moves over beside the photographer on his hearing side, to lean against the rail of the bridge, close enough for Clint to get a faint wiff of his scent. And because that's all he needs, it pushes his libido into overdrive. Wonderful! Not only does the man look gorgeous, he smells it too. At least he can tell Natasha he had an excuse for babbling shit. Looks good, smells good, probably tastes good. He’d love to find out by licking every damn inch of him. Aww brain-dick no!

“So you wanted to know about Agent? For **thedoggblogger**.”

Phil’s soft, husky voice does very little to pull him from his lustful thoughts but at least the topic of conversation focusses Clint’s attention on the here and now which is probably just as well.

Giving himself a mental shake, Clint responds, “You’re okay with that?”

Phil hesitates for a moment, well aware of how he reacted when Clint asked the day they first met. He's had time to think since then. A lot of time. He quirks the corner of his mouth up in a smile and nods. “Yeah. I am. What do you want to know?”

Clint thinks for a moment. There’s so much he wants to know but the most pressing is how a dog who’s deaf can make it through what he imagines is fairly tough training to become a service dog. Being hard of hearing himself, he thinks it’s pretty damn cool but he doesn’t understand how that would work. Phil’s answer surprises him.

“She wasn’t born deaf. You can imagine, the breeding program for service dogs is really strict with a lot of screening and testing before the actual training even begins. And the training itself is rigorous.”

He takes another sip of her coffee and reaches down to scratch the back of Agent’s ear. In return she grumbles and leans against him getting into a better position. Clint looks at them with amusement as Phil continues.

“She was almost two years old when we were introduced and I went through a three week training course with her. We graduated as a team and she became certified as my service dog.”

“Three weeks? Shit!”

Phil grins. “I shit you not. Very in-depth. We’d been together for about five months when she got sick.” The grin drops from his face replaced with sad eyes and creases in his brow as he frowns in remembrance and he hesitates for a moment before taking up the story again.

“It turns out she’d picked up some sort of virus. We don’t know where from or how but it was touch and go with her for while. Between the veterinarian and I she was nursed round the clock for just over a week and, of course, my girl’s a fighter so she pulled through. But...her hearing was affected. Actually it left her almost completely deaf. The organisation who trained her was going to pull her from the programme.”

Phil feels Clint go tense beside him at what could have been a terrible injustice for the pair. Phil shrugs and smiles bashfully.

“I kinda kicked off. They had every right to take her back, rehome her with someone else, someone who didn’t need assistance. But...we’d bonded. There was no way I was giving her up. Not without a fight.”

Clint can hear the fierce determination in Phil’s voice as he recalls it. He can imagine the ex-Army Ranger in action and suppresses a shiver at the thought of it. He must have been pretty fucking formidable in his day. Probably still is if the circumstances are called for.

“Eventually, after a hell of a lot of persuasion and cajoling by me, my ex-CO and my counsellor, they gave me three months to prove she could still do her job. Fortunately her trainer was on our side and she did everything she could to help. According to her when Agent and I met it was love at first sight.” He shrugs. “What can I say, she's a romantic.”

Phil smiles gently as he remembers Audrey's exact words to the panel as she threw her support behind them. 

> _“The moment they were introduced Agent pressed her shoulder against Phil’s leg and didn't move while I talked about what to expect over the next few weeks. Phil’s hand dropped to the top of her head and he rubbed behind her ear, her favourite spot, as if he'd done it a hundred times before. I was delighted but I kept it to myself. This was an initial meeting, early days yet, but right then I had knew that these two were going to be a great pairing. I wasn't wrong. I think if we were to break that bond now, it would cause a lot of harm…to both of them.”_

“Audrey devised a programme for us. Donated a week of her time at the start. Constantly checked on us by phone and the occasional weekend visit. Thanks to her, we’ve been together nearly three years.”

He looks down at Agent fondly and she gives him the dog version of a grin; mouth open with her tongue hanging out the side. Her bright brown eyes have never left him. He bops her gently on her nose which makes the dog wag her tail.

“I really don’t know where I’d be without her. She saved my life.”

It’s said simply but with such love it leaves Clint speechless. He’d expected an interesting backstory but _this_? This was way beyond anything he could imagine. He could probably put together a book about Phil and Agent alone. Not that he thought the ex-Army Ranger would ever agree to it but...it did give him some ideas for the new **thedogblogger** book.

Still with thoughts of Phil and Agent in his head, he realises Phil has spoken again but he’s totally missed what he’s said. Way to show you’re interested.

“Sorry, Phil. I...you…”

Phil winces and shifts uncomfortably against the rail. “Too mushy? Sorry. Busted. I tend to get carried away where Agent’s concerned.”

“No. No. It was... _nice_?” As soon as he says it, he knows it's totally the wrong word and he cringes inwardly, never more glad he’s a photographer and not a writer, but for the life of him Clint can’t think of anything else. It was as sad as fuck that the two of them were nearly separated so early on but it was also incredibly touching the way that people had cared enough to make sure they stayed together. Phil himself must have put everything into it to make it work.

He shrugs apologetically. “Wrong word, I know. It’s just...you kinda floored me. I wasn’t expecting that. You’re a pretty surprising guy.”

“Pretty _stubborn_ guy,” Phil corrects with a quick flash of that little half-smile Clint’s coming to recognise as a self-conscious gesture. Not wanting the ex-Army Ranger to feel any more uncomfortable, Clint changes the subject slightly.

“So the cues you use with her, is that ASL?”

“Good catch. A mix of ASL and hand signals from my time in the Rangers.”

Clint scrunches up his face. “Fuck! That must have taken ages.”

Phil almost misses what Clint says; he looks so damn adorable with his nose all wrinkled up like that. Fortunately, the higher functioning part of his brain kicks in and saves his ass.

“Ehhh...no. No. Not as long as you might think. Truth is, Agent’s a really intelligent dog - plenty of perseverance in short bursts, she soon picked it up. The worst bit was getting her used to being deaf. At first when she barked, it used to freak her out. She couldn’t understand why she couldn’t hear herself. She would just stand and bark constantly. Then she’d look at me as if I could do something to fix it.”

He pauses for a moment remembering how heartbreaking it had been to watch then shakes his head to clear it of the memory before continuing with a lighter tone.

“It took a lot of reassurance and patience to train her out of it. But we got there. And now she’s back to being her pain-in-the-ass self.”

He bops her on the nose again. She air chomps at him and nudges his thigh with her head which makes Clint chuckle - a deep, throaty sound that Phil’s delighted by. He looks at Clint and figures he could stand hearing that laugh again...and often. He also figures he better speak before he does something stupid, like kiss the photographer.

“Tell me about **thedogblogger** , Clint. How long have you been running it? How did it start?”

The younger man tries not to shiver at the way his name sounds on Phil’s lips. He also tries not to imagine him saying it under different circumstances...with Phil’s cock buried deep inside his ass just as he comes...y’know, as a for instance. Jeez Clint! Get a fucking grip.

He falters initially, for obvious reasons, but after a few seconds his brain comes (heh heh) back online again and his enthusiasm soon kicks in as he begins to tell Phil about the blog.

“Ehhh...sure. I guess the site’s being going about the same length of time you and Agent have been together. A friend asked me if I would do some publicity shots for a dog rehoming centre he was setting up.”

He looks at Phil with his own sad puppy dog eyes which makes the older man swallow thickly. It’s a look that could make the ex-Army Ranger say yes to whatever Clint was asking. Shit! What was he saying? Phil forces himself to listen instead of having inappropriate but not unwelcome thoughts concerning the other man.

“I’ve no idea how he does it every day. All those dogs abandoned or handed in or...Anyway, it made me think of when I used to take pictures of war zones and disaster areas, yeah? I had to shut down all my emotions and go for it take the best images I could. But these are dogs. They move around all the time trying to lick you, wagging their tails, barking, sniffing each other’s asses - y’know?”

Phil lets out a burst of laughter that sounds amazing to the photographer. God! It’s such a rich sound that resonates through the air and does magical things to Clint's cock. He hesitates for a second before turning the filthy thought filled smirk into a genuine smile and continues.

“So to get some practice I started taking photos of people’s dogs in that park and the streets. The first coupla times I did it the results were shit. Blurs, half-faces, butts, drool and nose prints on the lense...for a professional I really sucked at it. But I’m stubborn, like someone else I’ve been told recently, and I kept trying till I worked out if I startled them with a squeaky ball, or made kissy sounds, or generally acted like a complete dick it usually shocks them into staying still long enough for me to get the shot.”

Phil's giggling, honest-to-god _giggling_ and Clint loves it. Fucking _loves_ it. As much as he enjoys an appreciative audience he's never had such a sweet reaction to one of his stories. Sure, his friends all piss themselves laughing at his fucked up shenanigans but Phil's is…almost innocent in its joy. Once Phil sobers up, and sadly he does, Clint finishes the story.

“So then I ran the photos past Tasha and Katie, coupla friends with a good eye, and they both said I should set up a blog - that people would maybe get a kick outta seeing photos of cute dogs especially if they had like a background story. So for a bit of fun I did. I asked people for anecdotes about their pets and got their permission to post the photos. But I tell ya, it totally surprised me. What started out as a joke turned into **thedogblogger** , getting hundreds of hits a day and the photos getting likes and comments and being reblogged all over the world. It’s kinda awesome, y’know?”

Phil can see the excitement in the photographer’s face and body language - the sparkle in his eyes, the slight blush of his cheeks, the way he uses his hands as he describes things, even when he’s holding the coffee cup. It’s fascinating and he finds he really can’t get enough of it. Nor of those hands apparently. However that little nugget of information he keeps to himself for just a little longer. Instead he says gently, “You really love it.”

Clint ducks his head and looks up at the other man to make sure Phil’s not taking the piss. He’s not. He can see it in his eyes; warm behind his glasses, the crinkles at the corners of his eyes deep and sexy.

“I really do,” he replies with a soft smile playing on his lips. Suddenly embarrassed he looks down at the ground again.

They stand quietly together for a few moments but it’s actually a comfortable silence rather than an awkward one as might be expected.

When Clint finally gazes back up, Phil’s looking at him as though he wants to ask him something. He drops his eyes to Phil’s mouth and the other man takes it as a cue to speak. It’s then Clint realises he’s been doing that since they first met. With being hard of hearing the photographer often picks up visual rather than verbal cues, even wearing his aid, and tends to look at people’s faces or mouths. Some find it off-putting but several times Phil’s waited until Clint was looking at him before speaking. He’s touched by the courtesy.

“May I?” he asks reaching out his hand towards Clint’s but not actually making contact with him.

Puzzled, he holds out his left hand which Phil takes and carefully turns it palm up. He holds his own right hand out the same way. Clint sees similar calluses to his but with subtle differences. He’s still not sure what the ex-Army Ranger’s getting at so he searches Phil’s face for an answer.

“I was curious.” He drops his eyes to Clint’s hand and runs the tip of his middle finger lightly across the ridges of thickened skin causing the photographer to shiver. Phil flicks gaze to Clint’s face and gives him an apologetic smile. He hopes he's not crossed a boundary with his touch. He hasn't. In fact, it's much to the younger man’s regret, that Phil lets his hand fall away.

“I felt these when we shook hands. You don’t get calluses like that from taking photos.”

He doesn’t ask Clint how he came by them. Just leaves the observation open. If he wants to tell him, fine. If not that’s okay too. His eyes return to Clint who gives a little smirk.

“I’ve a feeling not much gets past you if you don’t want it to. I...do archery in my spare time.”

Phil was prepared for a number of answers but that didn't even make the top five. It does however explain the impressively muscled arms and shoulders. And those strong, sexy fingers.

“ _Now_ who's a pretty surprising guy?” he asks. There's a warmth to his voice that gives Clint hope that perhaps their meeting today won't be the last.

Phil’s cell phone picks that moment to burst into life with Marvin Gaye’s ‘Sexual Healing’. He freezes and just stares at Clint who raises an eyebrow in return. Slowly and without breaking his gaze from the photographer, he reaches into his pocket to remove the offending item and slides it to ignore.

“My friends are assholes,” Phil deadpans shoving it back into his jacket, blushing furiously.

Clint bites his bottom lip trying not to laugh. He nods. It’s the kinda shit Tasha would pull.

“You don’t like Motown?” he asks innocently.

“On the contrary. It holds a special place in my vinyl collection,” Phil tells him with a slight smile playing on his lips.

“Vinyl huh?”

And Phil feels like such a grandad! Of course Clint will have CDs or, more likely, downloads his music. Although he feels slightly better when Clint adds, “A purist? I should have known.”

Phil’s phone starts again. This time it’s ‘Let’s Get It On’ also by the Motown legend. He closes his eyes and sighs. Fuck Hill and Fury _and_ the horses they rode in on. Every visit for the last few weeks they've been changing his ring tones whether he hides his cell phone or not so he stopped bothering. Last week had been a Barry White love fest. He slides it to ignore a second time.

“Did I say my friends are assholes?”

“You may have mentioned it.”

“Clint…?” Phil hesitates. He looks away and frowns, clenching his jaw hard enough to make the muscle bunch up.

It's obvious to Clint that he's trying to come to some sort of decision and his heart thumps in his chest with anticipation. Again, he gets a little thrill with the way Phil says his name but the pause worries him. He desperately hopes Phil won't bolt like the last time. He waits, unwilling to rush the older man; he learned his lesson first time around.

Decision apparently made, Phil swallows and returns his gaze to Clint. His expression shows a complicated array of emotions; worry, hope, fear, determination and maybe a few others that Clint can’t quite distinguish.

“I've…enjoyed this morning. Would you...would you like to do this again?”

The photographer lets go of the breath he didn't realise he was holding and grins.

“Thank fuck! Yeah, Phil. I'd really like that.”

It's wonderful the way the ex-Army Ranger visibility relaxes at Clint's response. And maybe a little sad too. Like he's expecting the worst possible news but he's been given a lifeline when Clint says yes. It makes the younger man want to reach out and kiss him until neither of them can breathe. So he's actually pretty relieved when Marvin interrupts them once again.

Phil rolls his eyes.

“And pretty persistent.”

Clint holds out his hand for the phone. Intrigued, Phil hands it over noting the Jolly Roger image (complete with eyepatch) as he does so.

The photographer raises his eyebrow to ask for the caller’s id - he doesn't think the person's name is really Captain Eyepatch, Space Pirate - and slides it to accept keeping his gaze on the other man.

“Hey, Nick. Sorry Phil can't come to the phone right now. He's busy working out where he's taking me on our first date. I’ll be sure to tell him you called though. You wanna leave a message?”

He watches to see if he's crossed a line but going by the huge grin that's threatening to split Phil's face in two, he thinks perhaps he's said the right thing. It's further confirmed by the deep guffaw that comes from the phone. Yeah, Phil's friends are assholes but thankfully they seem to have a sense of humour.


	2. First Date (part one: the zoo of dogs)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The idea of the zoo of dogs as Phil and Clint's first date was inspired by a link sent to me by the lovely isisanubis to a tumblr post with the following comment, "Does Clint do this, or does Clint get called on as a judge for some kind of contest?" It seemed the sort of crazy the boys would be caught up in so here goes... 
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

Clint smiles when the chuckling stops abruptly. There’s no smalltalk; just silence as Nick ends the call. Clint likes him already.

Taking a chance, he briefly flicks his eyes towards Phil and seeing nothing to make him reconsider, quickly programs his number into the cell phone. Okay, it’s a smartphone; he could probably hold it next to his own and it would magically transfer the data with chirps and an excited squeal like R2D2 (or BB8 nowadays, probably). And as cute as that is, he can’t be assed with all that fluff and bullshit. He’s quite happy to do it the old fashioned way.

Phil watches, mesmerised as Clint’s thumbs dance over the screen. He tries not to imagine those thumbs gently stroking his face during their first kiss or skimming across his hardening nipple during...okay, seriously? He knows it’s been awhile since he’s had sex. Other person sex that is. DIY sex he has a little more frequently, especially recently but... _hell_! That’s quite a mental picture he’s given himself and he can feel the heat rising in his face right to the very tips of his ears. Unfortunately, that’s not the only thing that’s rising. Now who’s the smooth one, Coulson?

“So you can call me later. Or text me,” Clint explains shyly as he returns the phone, breaking Phil out of his lustful thinking. The photographer's other hand reaches for the back of his neck in that self-conscious way of his that Phil finds so attractive which is not helping get his dick, now half-hard, under control.

Still blushing, Phil ducks his head as he slips the phone into his jacket pocket before glancing up at Clint.

“I will,” he assures him, his mouth curling up at the corner. “I can’t promise that you won’t be given some totally inappropriate ringtone when my back’s turned…”

Clint snorts. “Small price, Phil. Besides, some ‘Sexual Healing’ sounds pretty good right now.” The younger man's eyes widen when he realises he’s actually said that out loud. Awwww mouth no!

Phil gives his own snort and the little half-smile turns into a barely disguised smirk which, of course, sets Clint wondering what he has to smirk about. And now the idea’s in his head, it takes all his willpower not to drop his eyes to the other man’s crotch to find out. Which is probably a good thing...for both of them considering Phil's semi status.

Reluctantly, Phil pushes away from the railing to face Clint and gestures over his shoulder. “I guess I better be going.”

He doesn’t seem very enthusiastic about leaving, which the younger man takes as a good sign. He kinda feels the same way himself. He’d like nothing better than to stay and talk to the ex-Army Ranger for the rest of the day but he reasons Phil’s probably got a shit load of stuff to do rather than be distracted by him. And, of course, _he_ should be looking through today’s photos and helping Kate with the design layout for the new exhibition.

“Yeah, me too.”

Things finally get kind of awkward. Do they kiss, shake hands, hug or skirt round it and toe the ground like little kids - which is pretty much what they're doing right now. Some guys Clint would just go ahead and kiss, and he really wants to do that with Phil...as in _really_ wants. He wants to find out what the other man tastes like, the feel of his tongue against his own, experience Phil’s heated moan against his lips. Oh holy fuck! Too much imagery. He’s gonna burst through his zipper if he keeps thinking like that.

Instead, for his own sanity as much as to say hi to her, he hunkers down in front of Agent who’s been waiting patiently for someone to pet her; it must have been all of five minutes since Phil stopped scratching behind her ear. She nudges his shoulder with her head almost pushing him over with her enthusiasm making him laugh in the process. He drops one knee to the ground to steady himself.

“I’m sorry, beautiful. Did I ignore you earlier? I know, that was mean.”

The service dog grumbles her agreement into his ear. Clint’s eyes catch Phil’s as he looks up at him from over the service dog’s shoulder. It's clear that although he's talking to Agent, his words are for Phil.

“So here’s the deal, Agent. You makes sure your pop calls me soon, yeah? Cuz I'd really like to see him again. And I’ll give you more of these hugs. What do you say?”

She nuzzles into his neck some more, steadily wagging her tail making little chuffy noises. He takes that as a yes especially when Phil gives him the barest of nods agreeing to the deal.

 

***

 

Clint throws himself down on Tasha’s couch with the biggest shit-eating grin she has ever seen.

“So...you look like the little bird that got the worm. Something I should know?”

“ _I’m_. _In_. _Loooove_.” he sings to her.

“Love is for children,” she tells him handing him a fresh baked banana muffin pursing her lips to hold back her own smile. “Although in your case that might still apply.”

“You can’t upset me today, Natasha. You can try but it won’t work.”

Suddenly, he’s bereft of the muffin. “Hey!” he cries out. Damn! She’s quick.

“Apparently, this is not true, Clinton,” Tasha responds with an evil grin taking a bite of the little bread/cake. “So. You finally asked park guy out on a date.”

“Nope. _He_ asked _me_.”

 

***

 

Phil walks into his living room to cheers and whistles from Hill and Fury who, as usual, have broken in and made themselves at home on his couch. He sighs wearily and just rolls with it. Behind the inscrutable expression however, his eyes are shining, an unmistakable sign that he's happy.

 

***

 

Clint’s cell phone rings - the generic ringtone of an unknown number. Immediately, he stops what he’s doing and answers the call much to his assistant and protégé Kate’s annoyance. They’re in the middle of re-arranging works in the gallery in readiness for the exhibition coming up and with Clint's abandonment she’s been left balancing somewhat precariously on the stepladder with a large, framed black and white photo in her hands.

“Hey, asshat! It’s a two person job for a reason!” she calls after him.

“So…hi,” he says a little breathlessly ignoring Kate’s colourful and creative cursing.

“Hi Clint, it’s Phil. Is this a good time?”

“It's always a good time to hear from you,” Clint tells him. He ignores the gagging gesture Kate makes as she sticks two fingers in her mouth now that she’s managed put the picture down without damaging herself or it. He actually agrees with her assessment...it was kind of a puke inducing statement.

Blissfully ignorant of their antics, Phil continues. “I was wondering if you’re free this Friday. Maybe in the morning?”

“This Friday morning? Sure I’m free.” Even if he's not, he’ll rearrange. He turns his back on Kate who’s rolling her eyes and miming dry heaves. Not funny. Although he isn’t exactly playing hard to get. Maybe she has a point.

“Ouch! Fuck, Katie Kate!” he yelps at the punch to his arm and rubs it while he glares at her. She’s looking at his tablet where he organises his calendar...well where _she_ organises his calendar.

“Clint? You okay?” Phil asks. Clint’s heart clenches a little at the note of concern in the other man’s voice. Awww!

“I’m fine. Someone standing beside me’s being a total dick.” He flaps his hand at her to shoo her away. She shakes her head at him and mouths ‘dog zoo’ at him and stabs her finger at the screen - 10:00am Friday 25th.

“I can call back,” Phil tells him easily. He should have texted. It’s just...he wanted to hear Clint’s voice again.

“No, no. It’s cool. Honestly. But apparently I’m not free on Friday afterall. I’ve got this thing…”

Trying not to sound as disappointed as he feels, Phil interrupts before Clint can continue. “Sure, that’s okay. Maybe another time.”

“No, Phil. Wait.” Clint's panicking in case Phil thinks he doesn't want to see him because that couldn't be further from the truth. He can’t break the appointment but… “I can’t cancel so why don’t you come along?”

“It’s really okay, Clint. We can maybe…”

“Look, I’m going to text you the time and the address. I promise you won’t regret it if you turn up. You’ll turn up, right?”

“I thought _I_ was supposed to be arranging our first date,” he replies with a hint of amusement in his tone even though he should probably be annoyed. He had, of course. Arranged it that is. It had taken him hours of obsessive internet searching to find what he thought would be exactly the right thing but unfortunately it was due to finish on Friday. Clint didn’t need to know that though.

“You can arrange the next first date. Trust me, no-one can resist the zoo of dogs. Seeya, Phil.”

“The what? Clint?”

But he’s talking to dead air, Clint has gone. Okay, so this was either going to be a lot of fun or an unmitigated disaster. And what the hell is the zoo of dogs?

 

***

 

Phil stands with his arms crossed over his chest, a smile playing on his lips as he watches the chaos unfold in front of him. So this is [the zoo of dogs](http://lola381pce.tumblr.com/post/144822282127/dutchster-theirs-a-zoo-of-dogs-dressed-up-as). He stands by his previous statement - it was either going to be a lot of fun or an unmitigated disaster.

He's at the address Clint sent him, an elementary school in the Boerum Hill area of Brooklyn for kids with learning difficulties. He's already been met and welcomed by a teacher and as she leads Agent and he to a quiet spot away from the worst of the throng but where he can still see everything going on, she explains the “zoo” is a class project for the first graders. Phil nods. A school project involving dogs was definitely one he can get behind.

There are ten dogs all dressed as different animals from a lion (a golden retriever with a shaggy mane around his head) to a pug dressed as a wampa from Star Wars or Phil’s personal favourite (even though the pug has a Star Wars thing going on) a saluki in a lamb suit - its expression along with the floppy ears are totally cracking him up. It’s testing all his skills as a badass ex-Army Ranger not to laugh. He’s pretty sure some of the dogs, plus pretty much all the owners, would be very upset with him if he did.

Along with the dogs, there are children of differing ages from around three up to seven / eight years (the first graders), all in various states of disarray plus maybe a dozen or so mothers and a few fathers with expressions ranging from mildly harassed to completely bewildered to couldn’t-give-a-fuck-this-sorta-shit-happens-every-day-of-my-life. The whole thing has a surreal quality to it.

Phil feels someone approach and manages not to flinch as they stand by his shoulder. He turns his head to see Clint beside him with a huge grin on his face. The photographer leans down to ruffle the hair under Agent's chin.

“Hey,” he says softly, gazing up at the other man. “I'm glad you're here.”

Phil smiles back, the crinkles at the corners of his eyes deepening. “Hi.”

“You look good,” Clint tells him as he straightens up again. And he does. Each time he's seen Phil in the park, he's been sporting some scruff and dressed in black jeans, t-shirt and jacket. This morning he's beautifully clean shaven, wearing blue jeans (faded and worn in all the right places), a blue button down open at the collar (revealing a delicious throat that Clint wants to lick and graze his teeth over, and some damn sexy chest hair that's just begging to have his fingers run through it… Ah Clint, just stop already!) And it’s topped off with a tailored blazer that’s perfectly cut to show off his broad shoulders. Yeah, he looks _really_ good. Clint swears he gets more in lust with the older man every time he sees him.

Phil ducks his head and gives him a flash of a smile. He’s embarrassed by the compliment but delighted by it too. It’s been a long time since someone’s told him that. He wants to tell Clint he looks great in what looks like an incredibly soft purple Henley especially as he’s pushed up the sleeves displaying those amazing forearms in a way that makes the ex-Army Ranger want to spend the rest of his day just staring at them...well maybe also touching his fingertips to Clint’s skin and mapping out those muscles and veins. But right now it would probably sound that he’s just returning the compliment. He wants Clint to know he means it.

“What do you think?” Clint asks nodding towards the disorderly group of canines and humans.

“It’s...different,” Phil tells him with an amused expression.

“Just different?”

“It’s my first zoo of dogs. I'm reserving my opinion for now.”

Clint can tell by the mischievous look that's in Phil's eyes he's taking the piss, so he’s not offended by the other man's words, even with his deadpan delivery.

“So, you're taking photos for the blog?”

“And judging the zoo.”

Phil winces. He doesn’t envy the photographer; either for having to make the decision of the best “animal” or being in the thick of the action. In the time he's been here, one guy has nearly fallen over his dachshund/giraffe three times and is currently trying to disentangle himself from a Jack Russell/frog’s leash that has mysteriously become wound round his ankle. A honey bear pug apparently wants to make sweet music with the wampa pug who's too busy trying to suck ice cream off the ground to care; it would seem honey bear’s technique could use some work. There's also a Great Dane with fairy wings and a tutu that's decided a small child makes an excellent cushion for its ass much to said small child’s mother’s horror and small child's glee.

“You’re trying not to laugh, aren’t you?” Clint asks giving him a sideways glance.

Phil continues to look directly ahead and nods still managing to keep a straight face. “Yup.”

“You’re a bad person.”

Phil turns to face the photographer and peers at him over the top of his glasses. “Clint...you have no idea.”

Clint shivers at his husky tone and the look he’s being given, which is very, very hot and intense and did he say hot? He’s so glad they’re in a very public place or he might have dropped to his knees and sucked Phil off there and then if he thought the other man would let him. Shit! He is _so_ fucked!

A woman begins to wave frantically at Clint dragging him from his lust-filled thoughts. Apparently, the dogs are all lined up (well, sort of) with their handlers and they're ready to start the contest (as ready as they'll ever be anyway).

“That’s my cue,” he says, glad that his voice sounds normal...well normal-ish…okay at least he isn’t whimpering. “Will you be alright here?”

“Pretty sure I’ll be better off here than you over there. Some of the competitors look kinda fierce and I’m saying nothing about the dogs.”

“You have no faith in my abilities, Phil. I mean look at this face…” he grins and puts on his puppy dog eyes batting his lashes at the older man. “Could you be angry with this face?”

In his head, Phil concedes he may have a point as he’s pretty sure all he wants to do is kiss that face and those lips until they're swollen and bruised and both he and Clint are breathless. Phil swallows. What is _wrong_ with him? Once again Clint doesn’t need to know any of this. Instead he rolls his eyes and deadpans, “Go, dogblogger! Your legion of fans awaits.”

Clint grins at him and turns to leave. He stops and looks back at Phil. “Hey, do you have a favourite?”

“I do but I'm not saying. Wouldn't want to be accused of trying to influence the judge.”

Clint laughs and jogs the short distance over to the group leaving Phil to appreciate the movement of his ass in those tight fitting jeans he’s wearing.

Clint seems to be in his element. He chats to the organiser with a great deal of animation - damn those sexy hands - occasionally throwing back his head with a bark of genuine laughter or scrunching up his nose in amusement (so damned cute...and still extremely hot). He's introduced to parents, children and dogs apparently charming them all while he takes photos and asks lots of questions. Phil smiles wistfully, yet again admiring the relaxed way he has with people. He makes it look effortless. Phil is only that at ease with close friends...and now Clint apparently.

As he continues to watch the fun and games, Phil feels something touch his leg. He looks down to see a little boy dressed as a frog staring at him with enormous brown eyes. He isn't an expert on kids’ ages - or indeed kids for that matter - but he reckons this one can't be more than about three or four.

“Hi,” he says. It seems an innocuous start but it's a kid - it could go either way.

The child says nothing and continues to stare at him. After a moment he raises his hand to point at Agent who sniffs at his tiny finger, slowly wagging her tail.

“Her name's Agent,” Phil tells him, making an educated guess at the question.

The boy transfers his gaze to Agent who's now gently licking his finger; it tastes of ice cream. And back to Phil. Once again he points, this time at her vest.

“That’s her...helper’s vest.”

Still the child doesn't speak just looks at him as though waiting for him to explain further. Phil tries not to make a snap judgement here. Perhaps he's unable to talk (trauma, talkative older sibling, painfully shy) or perhaps he's just a manipulative little tyke - although he doesn't get that impression. Either way he remembers doing the same thing to Clint in the park not so long ago. He's surprised the photographer didn't punch him in the face. Anyway...

“Because she’s my helper.”

“Why?”

Okay, so he can talk. Phil looks at him for a few seconds then crouches down so they’re at a similar eye level. It’s going to kill his leg and hip but it seems... _right_ given the nature of the conversation. Somewhat one-sided conversation so far but still. It also gives Phil time to think before answering.

“I need someone to take care of me sometimes. Agent does that.”

“Why?”

Phil knows he’s potentially walking into the ‘why’ trap and he'll probably miss the silent staring thing momentarily but he’s willing to play along for now. He considers the question, wondering how to explain PTSD to a child. “Sometimes I get scared. She helps me feel better.”

The little boy’s gaze moves between Agent and Phil several times before he nods apparently accepting the explanation. His expression is serious and there's silence for a while. Phil takes it that the conversation, such as it was, is now over and is just about to get back up when the child whispers to him.

“Sometimes I get scared too.”

The ex-Army Ranger’s senses go on high alert, worried there's something seriously wrong but he keeps his voice calm and level. “You do?”

The boy nods again but doesn't elaborate. Phil tries again with an open question.

“What makes you scared?”

“Bathtime.”

Phil almost laughs with relief but instinctively he knows that would be wrong. It seems he's been trusted with a secret. Instead he says sympathetically, “Oh. Well, yeah. Bathtimes can be scary.”

“I don’t have a Agent,” the child tells him sadly. He holds up a worn and obviously well-loved [plushy frog](http://www.fleurtations.uk.com/Jellycat/Jellycat-Wild-Thing-Frog.asp?gclid=Cj0KEQjw-Mm6BRDTpaLgj6K04KsBEiQA5f20E_OdzYkSa4PaZRpM73On6GqM-JLMA18ptJmDm6gMZTAaAkBS8P8HAQ) by the leg for Phil to see. It kinda looks like a green cookie monster. “I only have a Lilypad.”

“Olly, it’s time to leave Phil alone now.”

Both Olly’s and Phil’s heads snap up to register Clint walking towards them with a bottle of water in each hand.

“Aww, Kint!” he whines. Then eyeing up Clint’s drink the little boy adds hopefully, “Can I have some?”

“Don’t ‘aww Kint’ me, Olly Park. And no, these are for Phil and me. Your mom has yours. _It's peach flavoured_.” The last three words are in a sing-song voice.

“Bye,” Olly shouts at Phil and tears off at breakneck speed to find his mom. Phil stares after him, the ‘what the fuck’ expression hilariously plain to see on his face. He sooo doesn't get kids. Clint bites his lip to hold back a snort of laughter that’s threatening to break free.

He also holds back his instinct to help as Phil slowly gets back to his feet putting most of his weight onto his uninjured leg. He can see by the awkwardness of the movement it must hurt, a lot, but he can tell nothing from Phil's face which has slipped into a carefully blank mask hiding whatever he’s actually feeling. He must have known it would cause him considerable pain yet he crouched down to speak to a child anyway, one he didn't even know. Clint's heart twists inside his chest.

When Phil's upright Clint hands him a bottle saying nothing of his observations - he’ll keep those to himself for now. Instead he comments, “Looked like that was a pretty intense conversation you two were having.”

“Yeah,” Phil replies accepting the water with a nod. “That’s one word. Thanks.”

Clint twists open his bottle breaking the seal with a crack and takes a few gulps before talking again. “His mom organises the dog zoo. He’s usually pretty good at staying close so we didn't miss him for a few minutes. Man! She nearly lost her shit when she saw him with a stranger.”

As Clint spoke, Phil was reaching into the small rucksack he sometimes carried to take out Agent’s collapsible water dish. He pauses at the photographer's words and looks back him with a frown.

“Nah, it’s fine. I explained who you were. Loss of shit averted.”

Having continued with and completed the task of pouring half the water into Agent’s dish, he chokes on the mouthful he’s taken for himself. Clint comes out with things that Phil just doesn’t expect. He’s probably going to kill him one way or another.

“Fuck! You okay?”

Phil nods. “So who won?” he croaks after a moment his eyes still watering.

“Well the giraffe nearly got it but there was something about the lamb that…” Clint recalls the expression on the saluki’s face along with the way the ears on the suit drooped and snorts...and then giggles...then laughs until the tears are streaming down his face. Unfortunately, Phil’s no help whatsoever because he’s picturing exactly the same thing and joins in until he’s almost doubled over.

“Ahh, man! That feels better,” wheezes Clint eventually, wiping the tears from his eyes. “I’ve been holding that in for ages.”

Phil nods in full understanding. At least he’s been on the sidelines in the perfect spot; far enough away from the meandering crowd of people but near enough to have a great view of what’s going on, and could laugh at various times through out the contest.

“You wanna get outta here?” the photographer asks suddenly.

The other man doesn't hesitate. “Sure. If you don’t have other things to do?”

“Nah! Jess, Olly’s mom, nearly kicked my ass when she found out I asked you here on a date. I’ll not tell you her exact words but apparently I’m some kinda ‘bawbag’. I’m not entirely sure what that is...but it sounds mean.”

Phil knows exactly what it is and gives him a look which is mostly sympathy and part amusement. One of his new team, well Fury’s new team, is a Scottish engineering genius and has been known to use the word on occasion and certainly not as a compliment. He decides not to supply Clint with a translation and instead asks, “You have anything in mind?”

Clint appears a little bemused. He hadn't really thought that part out. “Ahhh...not really?”

“Good. You like ice cream?”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed chapter two. You're welcome to leave kudos, kisses or comments. It's always good to know what you think.
> 
> For anyone who may be interested "bawbag" - is a Scottish term which literally means scrotum. However it's also used to describe someone who's considered to be annoying or an idiot. In Clint's case, Jess thinks he's an idiot for bringing Phil to a class project for a date.
> 
> I have no idea if there's an elementary school in Boerum Hill, Brooklyn for kids with learning difficulties or otherwise. The area was picked really for the ice cream shop and the idea behind the school for the zoo of dogs because I think Clint would throw his support behind kids from all walks of life.


	3. First date (part two: Yo-Yo's Artisan Ice Cream)

They're near enough Phil's intended destination to walk. It's only a few blocks away to his favourite ice cream place, Yo-Yo’s in Boerum Hill. It’s an artisan shop that serves honest-to-god ice cream made with milk, cream, cane sugar and egg yolks although they do have a vegan alternative which means he’s covered if Clint is intolerant to dairy or has any allergies. Phil, thankfully, is not but he has to do some extra walking or serious exercise if he comes here so he tries to keep his visits for special occasions. Unfortunately he’s discovered that the coffee, pastries and desserts are just too good as are the people therefore returns, more frequent than he'd care to admit, are inevitable. His first date with Clint however definitely qualifies as special so today is guilt-free.

On the way the pair get locked in an animated discussion about ice cream versus gelato which turns into a debate between the merits (Clint) or inferiorities (Phil) of frozen yogurt and finally, when is the best time to enjoy sorbet. Clint reckons never cuz “It’s like winter slush with a god-awful syrupy flavour - and I _like_ sugary stuff!” Phil tries to argue its case “But it’s _great_ on a really hot summer’s day!” However he can tell by Clint’s barely disguised bulldog chewing a wasp expression he’s fighting a losing battle.

Their banter is all good natured though (and pretty informative for Phil as he intended) and by the end of it, he knows exactly what to order. Which is fortunate because they’ve reached [Yo-Yo’s Artisan Ice Cream](http://www.vanleeuwenicecream.com/i4msvg5ztdqam8ist718bhvg8na8tk).

Phil opens the door for Clint to enter first, his good hand resting gently against the small of the other man’s back. Clint can feel the warmth of Phil's fingertips through his Henley and finds he’s a big fan of it. In fact he could stand a lot more of it. However he remains quiet and instead takes his time getting inside so that he can feel Phil’s touch for a little longer.

It’s just before 11:30 so the place isn’t busy yet. It’s a tiny shop with a few tables and chairs down one side and a huge wooden counter down the other. One of the tables is occupied as are the high seats at the window and there’s a couple choosing their ice creams at the counter laughing with the young woman behind it.

“Table?” Clint asks over his shoulder.

Phil agrees and suggests the small booth towards the back of the shop. As the photographer heads in that direction Phil enquires, “Do you trust me?”

The earlier touch of his hand makes Clint want to kiss him until he begs for mercy but that’s not quite the same thing. Instead he replies without hesitation, “Yeah.” And oddly enough, he actually does.

Phil nods again, happy at the answer. He stands beside the couple to be greeted with a wide and genuine smile by the guy who comes over to help him.

“Hey, Glasses. Been a while. How you doin’?”

“Good, Mack, thanks," he says giving Agent's head a scratch. "And you?”

“Well...very well in fact.” Mack is always laid back and friendly. “So what’s the special occasion?” He knows about the other man’s original “special occasion” rule and teases him about it when he can.

Phil drops his head forward and gives Clint a sideways glance before he realises he’s done it. He peers up at Mack with a sheepish expression and the beginnings of a smile on his lips.

Mack gives him a wide grin and nods. “Ohhh! I get it. He looks nice. Wait till Tremors finds out - she’ll have kittens.”

Tremors, or Daisy, is in her mid-twenties and also works the counter. The two of them clicked the first time they met almost to the point where Yo-Yo and Mack joked about announcing an engagement between them. He suddenly feels guilty. They’ve not caught up for a few weeks so he knows he’s in for some severe verbal abuse when she sees him.

“So how long have you two...?”

Phil looks at his watch - it’s now 11:30hrs. “About an hour and half,” he tells the other man.

“And you brought him here on your first date? Damn! That’s cute. So what’s it gonna be? Flat white with an almond croissant or an [Affogato](http://content.tv3.ie/content/images/0854/191348_1280x720.jpg)?”

Phil grins. “Am I that predicable?”

Mack laughs, deep and rich, startling the people at the window. “Naw, man. You’ve tried other stuff but those’re your favourites. Thought you might want to share the joy with Arms over there.”

Phil snorts. He should talk about arms. The guy’s huge! “How about I go crazy and have both?”

Mack’s laugh deepens. “Wow! He must be somethin’ if you’re pushin’ boat out. Speaking of...?”

“Another Affocato. Then a double shot Americano, smooth with a lemongrass and ginger muffin if you have any.”

“Fresh in this morning. Go sit down, Glasses. I’ll bring it over.”

Phil takes out his wallet to pay but Mack shakes his head. “We’ll square up at the end. I’ve a feeling you two are gonna be here a while.”

The ex-Army Ranger tilts his head to the side and gives him a questioning frown but after a moment his frown turns thoughtful and he puts his wallet back. Maybe Mack’s right. He knows _he’s_ in no rush. Hopefully Clint isn’t either. Order placed, he walks over to the table, his limp a little more pronounced after their trek from the school. Clint's stride is a little bit quicker than he's used to and even though the photographer slowed his pace when he realised, the damage was done for today - not that Phil has any intention of saying anything.

As he slides into the booth, Agent tucks in as close as possible to sit on the floor beside him. Clint leans forward over the table and stage whispers, “They’ve got a turntable, with a needle and records and shit.”

“Yeah, the ice cream and coffee suck but the vinyl’s excellent; it’s the only reason I come here,” Phil deadpans.

“Well you _are_ a purist!” Clint grins.

“That I am,” Phil agrees, nodding sagely.

“So what _do_ you like? Other than sexy Motown obviously. No, wait. Lemme guess…” Clint pauses to consider types of music that is so not Phil and will probably piss him off, cuz yeah, he's that sort of asshole. “What sort of music would a boy scout would listen to?”

Phil fixes him with a steady gaze. ”What makes you think I was a boy scout?” he returns. “Maybe I was into sex, drugs and rocknroll.” He raises an eyebrow. “Maybe I was a bad boy.”

Clint snorts. “No way.”

Phil’s says nothing but continues to stare, his expression inscrutable. The photographer stops to look at him, really look at him trying to gauge if he's being serious. And after a few seconds, in between registering some delicious freckles across the other man's forehead, the slight (and rather hot) bend in the bridge of his nose, and how sexy his mouth is, Clint spots something. There, in Phil’s left ear, is the unmistakable dimple of where an earring used to be. He hadn’t noticed it before - okay he had no real reason to look before. But then, he always could see things better from a distance.

Clint's well aware an earring doesn't necessarily mean ‘bad boy’ but it does mean a bit of a rebellious streak, so there's definitely wiggle room for doubt regarding the whole boy scout theory. Phil's words from earlier, when Clint joked about him being a bad person, suddenly come back to him: “Clint...you have no idea.”

And now Clint's intrigued. Hell! He's goddamned ecstatic about the prospect of learning all about potentially ‘bad boy Phil’. But he's gonna be cool about it. No dumbass comments or weird sex innuendos.

“Fuck! You were serious. Do you have any other piercings I should know about? Maybe where they’re not so obvious...” Awww no! He rubs the back of his neck self-consciously. Ah well, the intention of being cool was there. It’s a pity his mouth didn’t get the message.

“Hey, AC! Look at you all clean shaven and in a relationship!”

Clint drags his eyes away from Phil and looks up to see a very pretty, kinda hipster young woman standing by their table. She leans over to place three different sized glasses in front of them: one with a double shot of espresso, a second with two scoops of vanilla ice cream and lastly a large one with water before straightening to direct her gaze at Phil. They seem to share a moment during which he gives a slight nod and a quick flash of a smile. She leans down again to plant a brief kiss on his temple.

Clint doesn't like her. She kissed Phil’s freckles. Yeah, he kinda hates her.

She straightens up again. “So spill, Phil. What gives?”

Phil opens his mouth to speak when hipster starts up again. “And don’t say this is my friend, ‘sexy guy’. Okay, he totally is but don’t say friend...say it like it is, AC. This is my boyfriend, ‘sexy guy’. Mack sucks at keeping a secret. Well, okay, so _maybe_ I heard you two talking.”

Phil looks at her to see if she’s finished. She seems to be...or she’s paused for breath. Either way, he takes his shot.

“Daisy, this is my boyfriend, ‘sexy guy’. ‘Sexy guy’, this my friend, Daisy.”

Daisy’s mouth drops open. “My god! Seriously? I can’t believe you just made a dad-joke. You used to be soo much cooler than that.” She whips her head round to glare at at Clint. “You broke him! Fix him. And eat your Affogato before it gets cold...or hot. Fix. Him.”

She stomps away from them making a couple of glasses rattle.

Clint smirks revising his opinion. He actually kinda likes her.

“I’m really not cooler than that,” Phil tells him cleaning his hands with sanitser. He offers it to Clint. “Bad puns and dad-jokes are a speciality of mine.”

Clint nods squirting some of the gel in this palm. Yeah, he remembers when they met in the park. “I seem to remember that,” he says his smirk changing to a fond smile. “Okay. So two questions.”

“Just two?” replies Phil lifting his coffee.

“For now. What’s with the AC thing? And…” He stops and stares at what the other man doing. The fuck? He’s just dumped his espresso over his ice cream. That’s all kinds of wrong.

“Don’t knock it til you try it,” Phil’s says. He picks up his spoon and takes some of the ice cream and espresso then holds it out to Clint. After a brief hesitation, the photographer leans forward to accept but at the last second Phil diverts his hand and puts the spoonful into his own mouth with a smirk.

Clint gawps at him in disbelief at the shocking act of betrayal. He was sure it was going to be a romantic gesture with the two of them sharing the dessert like Lady and the Tramp. Now it's more like fucking Ren and Stimpy.

Phil snorts and takes another mouthful, the smirk still playing on his lips.

Okay! Fuck this shit. Gross as the whole idea seems, Clint follows Phil's lead with the coffee then lifts his own spoon scooping up a decent serving of the concoction and making a show of placing it in his mouth. When he swallows he makes a surprised sound as the cold ice cream and hot espresso melt together over his tongue, the bitter/sweet flavours flooding his taste buds. This is unbelievable! With his second spoonful the noise is a more of a filthy moan. It's...fucking amazing - for both Clint _and_ Phil.

Phil manages one more mouthful before he has no choice but to stop eating and watch Clint devour his dessert, the act of which (hot enough on its own) is accompanied with a soundtrack of what can only be described as lusty sex noises. The older man's not sure if Clint's doing this for revenge or this is genuinely how he eats but he doesn’t much care; he's damn well going to enjoy it while it lasts, if only so as he recall it in the shower later.

All too soon Clint's finished and drops the spoon into the glass with a satisfied, post-orgasm (probably) look on his face. Affogato is now ruined for Phil. He'll never be able to eat it again without thinking of this moment. It was worth the sacrifice. Probably.

“Something wrong with yours?” Clint asks, hopefully. He’s been converted...big time!

Without hesitation, Phil slides his dessert across the table to the other man. Clint grins and tackles it with as much gusto and as many porno noises as the first one until once again he has that contented look. Yeah, that’s not distracting at all for Phil, or his dick which is trying to high five in his jeans.

Thankfully, the moment is broken and the quiet of the shop is disturbed as the turntable bursts into life. Sham 69. Phil doesn’t know whether to laugh or groan. He looks over to where it sits and sees Daisy returning to behind the counter with a huge smile on her face. His eyes flick back to Clint, who’s also staring at the hipster. The music’s not loud but it’s punk. Hard core punk. It just seems that way.

“That’s random,” Clint says turning back.

“Not so much.” He ducks his head and gives Clint a shrug. “It’s the first album I bought when I was a kid, well teenager. It was also the first one I put on in here when I finally had the balls to walk over there and do it. Pretty much a disaster. I nearly cleared the shop. I wasn’t in the best of places and…” Phil drops his gaze for a second. “...well, they were good to me that day. And ever since.”

They both fall quiet for a moment - Phil, reflecting on a time when he was lost and Clint because he sees it in Phil’s expression and doesn’t want to disturb him.

Daisy returns to the table with Clint’s Americano and Phil’s flat white along with their food. Sensing something’s happened, she doesn’t speak or make jokes as she puts down their order before removing the Affogato glasses. _Fix him_ , she mouths at Clint.

“Thank you, ma’am,” Clint says with a smile. _I like dad jokes_ , he mouths back. Daisy sighs and stalks off with an epic eye roll which makes both men snort.

“So what part of the midwest are you from?” Phil asks breaking out of this thoughts. He can’t help but notice the love heart that someone - truthfully it could be either Daisy or Mack - has designed into his foam.

“And I thought I’d hidden it,” Clint replies taking a mouthful of his coffee. He hums happily; it’s good. Strong, smooth and hot - just how he likes it which makes him wince as he recalls when he said it out loud to Phil that day in Prospect Park. Fortunately the ex-Army Ranger misses it as he’s concentrating on tearing a piece off his croissant.

Clint watches without hiding it, impressed with how well Phil uses his prosthetic. It’s not as nimble as his real hand but he has no bother controlling the pastry with it while he uses his right to tear it.

“You have pretty much, but I recognised it when you were trying to get a rise out of Daisy - kudos by the way. I lived in Wisconsin when I was a kid.” He pops the piece in his mouth and joins Clint with his own hum of pleasure. God these pastries are amazing.

“Really? Then we’d have been neighbours. I’m from Iowa.”

“Huh! So you only work in outer space?”

Clint gives him a look then laughs. “Really? ' _The Voyage Home_ '. You nerd!”

“Hey, _you_ caught the reference,” Phil points out before taking a sip of coffee.

Damn! Phil had him there. Still, it is the best original cast Star Trek movie so he’s not that embarrassed…much.

The two men pass the next hour drinking coffee, finishing their food (“...lemongrass and ginger muffin topped with poppy seeds...awesome!”) and sharing bits of information about themselves. Mostly trivia and funny stories, certainly nothing reaching the depths of Phil’s earlier confession of his near breakdown and subsequent rescue in Yo-Yo’s.

Mack appears at the table bearing further dishes of goodness. “Hey,” he says nodding to Clint. The photographer nods back.

“What’s this?” Phil asks as a sundae is placed in front of each of them.

“New recipes,” Mack explains. “Yours is the Curried Caramel Nut and Arms’ is the New Yorker. Let me know what you think. Turbo came up with the idea for the CCN.”

Clint makes a curious face at his apparent nickname but lets it slide. He can tell nothing is meant by it.

“I’ve not seen him for a couple of weeks. How’s he doing?”

“So much better since he started working again. Really appreciate you recommending him for that job.”

Phil nods. Turbo, or Leo Fitz, is Mack’s partner and Fury’s new team member. He’s an electronics and engineering genius and has designed and worked on some incredible tech for their projects. Unlike Mack, the young Scot is incredibly shy especially since he nearly drowned in a boating accident just over a year ago. Having been under the water for over two minutes, he was revived but suffered from symptoms of oxygen deprivation including ataxia, apraxia, anomia and a decline in some of his executive functions. It was through Mack’s careful and loving dedication that he slowly began to regain those functions and recover from the hypoxic-anoxic injury.

When Phil learned Mack’s partner was suffering from depression at apparently being “a total waste of space” - Fitz’s words during an uncharacteristic outburst - he immediately spoke to is old friend and convinced him they needed someone with Fitz’s skillset. After a slow start and finding the best way to help him with his anxiety (achieved when Hill knitted a fuck-ugly stripy monkey - now called Fugly - that Fitz, and only Fitz, adores and hugs when he gets anxious) they’ve never looked back.

“My pleasure, Mack. His work’s amazing. Nick tries to hide it but I know he’s impressed.”

“How can you tell?” Mack asks with a grin.

Phil shrugs. “His death glare lessens to one of mild irritation.”

Mack lets out a bark of laughter. “Sounds about right. Enjoy.”

“Arms?” Clint asks, picking up his spoon as the other man walks away.

“Mack has a nickname for everyone. Glasses, Tremors, Turbo. It’s actually how this place got its name. Elena and Mack started the shop a few years ago. They decided to call it Yo-Yo’s Artisan Ice Cream after Mack’s nickname for her.”

“You’re Glasses I’m guessing. So who’s Tremors?” As if on cue, Daisy picks that moment to stomp past them hard enough to rattle a few glasses nearby.

Clint raised his eyebrows. “Ahhh,” he said in understanding. “Which reminds me, what’s this AC thing?”

Phil points down at Agent, who’s fallen asleep lying over his shoes making the occasional wuff / whimper sound, and then at himself. “Agent / Coulson.” He tilts his head and looks up at Clint giving him a self-conscious smile. He’s never had to explain it before and maybe it sounds kinda lame but he’s okay with that. It means something to him and Daisy and that’s really all that matters.

Clint gives him a warm smile but with some mischief behind it. “Cute. So does _no-one_ call you Phil?”

“You do,” he says softly.

Clint ducks his head and looks up at the older man. Yeah. He does. Neither of them speak for a moment as an understanding passes between them. He will always be Phil to Clint. And maybe The Dog Soldier thinks **thedogblogger**...so it would appear he has a nickname with him too.

“Okay, you have an idea of what I was like as a kid. What about you? Street angel / house devil?” he asks his eyes still gentle but his tone teasing as he tries to lighten the mood - otherwise he may come apart in the ice cream shop…again. In total, he’s been with this man for less than hours than a normal working day and already he know there’s something special about him. It’s an almost overwhelming feeling.

A strange look falls over Clint’s face, just for a second. Phil can read some of the emotions in it - fear, sadness, resolve, a flash of anger even. He’s obviously struck some kind of nerve and asked something Clint doesn’t want to share. Maybe not now, maybe not ever. It’s up to him and Phil’s not going to force the issue.

“Another time maybe. How’s your sundae?” he asks instead, changing the subject completely.

“Yeah, pretty awesome,” Clint replies after a slight hesitation, grateful Phil doesn’t push for an answer to his previous question. He wouldn’t know what to tell him if he had. It’s pretty sad when the best thing you can remember about your childhood is it being over. How fucked up is that? He’s better with safe questions about sundaes. He can at least be truthful about the dessert. Besides it’s espresso ice cream, fudge sauce and whipped cream - what’s not to like.

Phil nods. Keeping his face expressionless he says, “The reason I ask is...you’re very quiet when you’re eating it. I just wondered if perhaps you’re not enjoying it as much as the Affogato.”

Clint’s eyes widen. Awww _man_! He must have been making those porno noises again. Fuck! Tasha has warned him about that repeatedly. A slight flush to his cheeks appears which Phil can't help but adore. Clint drops his head forward and concentrates on finishing the sundae...quietly.

Phil smirks and takes a mouthful of his own appreciating the way the weird mix of candied nuts and vanilla ice cream scrambles his taste buds. The toffee sauce gives it a perfect balance. Fitz deserves some sort of award for this. And he can understand why Clint makes those noises. It’s then he realises the other man still hasn’t spoken.

“Clint? You okay?” There's concern in his voice as he asks. He’s genuinely worried he’s fucked up by teasing Clint about his sex noises. God no! He has to stop thinking of them as sex noises. Even though they are. Totally. Sex noises. Shut up, Coulson!

“Yeah. M’fine,” Clint mumbles in reply. He _is_ fine except maybe he feels a bit of an idiot. It’s one thing moaning and groaning with your best friend who knows you’re totally lame and you’re only doing it because you really, _really_ enjoy her baking but to do it in front of someone that you want to get to know and, hopefully, make those noises in a real life scenario...fuck!

“It’s just...I’m sorry.”

“ _You’re_ sorry? Why?”

Clint basically tells Phil what he was thinking - well all apart from the real life scenario bit. Way too early for confessions like that.

Phil’s shoulders slump and his head drops forward. That scares Clint more than anything. Shit! Now what has he done? Things had been going so well - questions about childhood aside and Phil wasn’t to know how shitty his had been.

Phil raises his head slightly so that he’s looking at the other man over the top of his glasses. Carefully and with a gentleness to his tone he tells him, “Clint, you have _nothing_ to apologise for. If anyone has, it’s me. I shouldn’t have joked about your se...about the noises you made. You were obviously enjoying something and that was…” sexy, a turn on, hot as hell? “... sweet. I was rude. And an ass. And I’m sorry.”

Clint’s pretty much floored. He doesn’t think anyone’s ever really apologised to him before. Except maybe Tasha who will ruffle his hair and give him a cookie and Sam...okay Sam would if he ever had cause to but he can’t recall any of his other friends or past lovers and certainly not his family (excluding his mom, her life was one big apology thanks to his dear old motherfucker of a father) had ever told him they were sorry when they’d fucked up with him. Barney? Hah!

“Still, it could have been worse,” Phil continues. “I guess I could have given you something that caused you to make a gagging noise.” He stops, his face turning scarlet. “That...came out wrong.”

Phil winces scrunching up his face and to Clint, he's suddenly Mr Adorbs again. He closes his eyes and pinches the crooked (and still sexy) bridge of his nose while Clint rests his chin on his hand and smiles the biggest, cheesiest smirk in the history of smirks.

“ _Reeeeally_?” he says drawing the word out. “A gagging noise, huh? Good to know.”

The older man groans and covers his eyes with this hand. He spreads his fingers and peeks at Clint through the gaps like a little kid. Still smirking. Fuck!

“You think maybe it’s time for us to go?” the photographer asks trying desperately not to laugh. With Phil’s unintended double entendre they’re back on familiar ground and any tension with awkward questions has quickly evaporated.

The place has been getting steadily busier over the last half hour with the queue for takeaway ice cream all the way along the counter. The tables are starting to fill up now too.

“That’s an outstanding idea.” Phil agrees. Casually he takes three twenties out of his wallet, folds them inside an unused paper napkin, folds the corner over to secure it and places it in the empty glass that once held water.

“How do you know they won’t throw it out?”

Phil just smiles. He gently wakes Agent and they slide out of the booth followed by Clint. With a wave to Daisy who’s lifted her head at the right moment, the two men and one yawning, shaggy dog exit Phil’s favourite ice cream place to head back to the elementary school.

After giving Agent the last of the water from the bottle Clint brought for Phil, they amble along the few blocks taking twice as long as it took to get to Yo-Yo’s, shoulders occasionally brushing. Both are reluctant for their time together to be over. It’s not late, only early afternoon, but neither wants to take today beyond what they’re comfortable with.

“Can I drop you somewhere?” Phil asks as they approach a black Acura MDX in one of the disabled bays in the carpark. He unlocks the modified SUV with the remote and opens the trunk. As Clint watches, Phil signals for Agent to sit before opening her crate for her to jump inside at his cue.

“Nah. My ride’s already here.” He nods over to where Natasha’s waiting for him in her sleek black Corvette Stingray. Phil steps back to allow Clint to say goodbye to Agent which he does with a lot of fussing. After checking her favourite toy is inside with her, Phil ruffles the hair of her head causing her to grumble at him then secures the crate, gently closing the trunk again.

Phil ducks his head and looks up at Clint with that little half-smile of his. “So I guess this is where we part company.”

“I guess,” the other man confirms.

“Thank you for taking me to my first zoo of dogs.”

Clint smiles. “I told you no-one could resist it.”

“Yeah, you did. And you were right.”

“And thanks for the Affogato. Not sure if I should have it again…”

“I was kinda hoping you would.” Phil’s eyes are twinkling with mischief which makes Clint’s heart skip in his chest. Fuck! Those eyes of his...

“Have dinner with me,” the photographer blurts out. “Tonight, tomorrow, next week, whenever. But have dinner with me.”

“I’d like that, Clint. A lot.”

Phil steps a little closer to him. He drops his gaze to Clint’s lips before returning it to his eyes signalling his intention. At Clint’s shy and almost imperceptible nod, Phil reaches his hand to the other man’s face, gently touching his fingertips to his cheek before sliding round to his hairline as they lean into each other. His thumb brushes against Clint’s cheek bone and, keeping his lips soft, he presses them lightly against Clint’s. After a moment the photographer opens his mouth slightly and Phil follows suit but he doesn't enter. He does deepen the kiss however, increasing the pressure just a little on Clint's bottom lip. It's slow and tender and beautiful.

Clint places his hands on Phil's hips, carefully as though the older man was made of glass. In direct conflict with that thought, part of Clint wants to push Phil against his SUV and slip those same hands under Phil's shirt to touch his skin and trail his fingers over his nipples and through the hair on his chest that's been tantalising him all morning. But the rest of him, the biggest part of him, just wants Phil to continue what he's doing; controlling the pace, keeping it achingly slow so that he can feel the softness of Phil’s lips and savour the faint taste of ice cream for longer; the rest of his life preferably.

And as if he knows what Clint is thinking, Phil scrapes his teeth over the younger man’s bottom lip - not enough to hurt, just enough to tease - trapping it there to sweep the tip of his tongue across it before releasing it and kissing him gently again in that unhurried almost deliberate way that’s beginning to make Clint feel lightheaded but so, so good.

And then it’s over. Phil carefully moves away to lean his forehead against Clint’s for a moment.

“‘ _Tonight, tomorrow, next week, whenever_ ,’” Phil whispers against Clint’s mouth repeating the other man’s words to him. Briefly he presses a kiss to the corner of his lips one last time before stepping back. The photographer almost whimpers at the loss of contact but he knows it’s right; it’s time for them to part...for now anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, that was chapter three; I really hope you enjoyed it. Thank you for reading and for all your support, it's very much appreciated.
> 
> Yo-Yo's Artisan Ice Cream was inspired by Ven Leeuwen Artisan Ice Cream which has shops in Brooklyn, New York and Los Angeles along with a couple of vans. I picked it because they really do have "...a turntable, with a needle and records and shit.” It just seemed Phil's kind of place.
> 
> This version of Daisy is more like Skye from season one of AoS - I kinda miss her.
> 
> I know Lady and the Tramp was spaghetti but...y'know.


	4. Bump in the Road

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My thanks to howdoyourespond for taking the time to give the chapter a read through and being so supportive as always. And to isisanubis for the original idea.
> 
> Sorry folks...this chapter's pretty angsty for the boys. It also has descriptions of severe pain, an anxiety attack, medical trauma and self-doubt. They're in the tags but just in case you miss them and any of these of these are triggers for you. If I've missed anything else please let me know.

Natasha's watching the pair from her car rolling her eyes as they kiss goodbye. She’d be the first to admit the grin on her face at that precise moment is probably thoroughly evil as she raises her hand to blast the horn. Inexplicably however she stops, palm hovering over the centre of the steering wheel.

Her view is partially obstructed but she’s able to see that Clint's hands are resting on Phil's hips; there’s no frantic groping or messy fumbling at the other man’s clothing as she would have expected. They seemed to be...lost in each other as they kiss. And when Phil pulls back then leans in to press his forehead against Clint’s, Natasha’s gut twists. This isn't her friend’s usual obsession that will be over in a matter of days, weeks or months...at a push. This is something else entirely and she’s afraid. For him. For herself. For both of them. She isn’t sure which. She isn’t sure why.

“Love is for children,” she mutters to herself but she lowers her hand and turns her eyes away. It's not until the door opens and Clint slides into the passenger seat that she looks up again.

“Hey Tasha,” he says quietly with a bashful smile. Normally he’d be bouncing in his seat like an overactive Tigger babbling about his date’s many lush points but this time he’s private, thoughtful even.

She gives him a wary look then stabs the starter button with an elegant finger making the engine roar into life. It burbles as she lets it idle, one fingertip tapping the wheel impatiently. Clint takes the hint and pulls the seatbelt across his body fastening it with a loud click. Yeah, yeah. Safety first. It's only then she puts the Stingray into drive and the coupé pulls away from the space with a rabid snarl.

Natasha guns it past Phil but not before she studies him; his head's tilted to the side as he follows the progress of the car but it's his expression she notices - gentle with a smile that she can only describe as beatific. She didn’t know that was a real thing until now.

She flicks her eyes over to Clint and бог помочь ей, (god help her) his expression is almost identical. He’s worrying the pad of his thumb as he smiles out of the side window at Phil.

In her head she repeats the mantra, “Love is for children.” But this time, even _she_ doesn’t believe it.

***

Phil’s struggling.

So far it’s been a bad day. Actually it’s been an utter shit-fest of a day. Everything aches. He's not had it in a long time but phantom limb pain decided to put in an appearance waking him in the early hours of the morning. Gradually the pins and needles in his stump switched it up to knives and daggers making a return to sleep pretty much impossible. A heat pad then some massage worked for a while but neither lasted for long and he just couldn't get into a place in his head where he could relax enough for that to be of help either.

Agent has helped as best she can, distracting Phil from his self-harming behaviour, knocking his hand away from his stump when massage turns to insistent rubbing or pawing him and licking him if he starts up again. She’s well aware of Phil’s state of mind and hasn’t left his side, remaining alert and ready in case he should need her.

Nowadays Phil tries not to take painkillers if he can avoid it but the build up of pain in his arm and chest plus the constant dull ache in his hip and leg forces him to give in as dawn approaches but even these are having little effect, merely taking the edge off. The thought of putting on his prosthetic has been agony itself.

As a result he’s tired and on edge.

He’s also an ass. He should have cancelled tonight. But...he really wants to see Clint again. It’s been nearly a week since their first date. He wants to see his shy smile, hear his warm honey laugh, taste those soft lips. Right now though he’ll be lucky if he makes it to the restaurant never mind anything else.

He winces and hisses a breath between his teeth coming to a stop suddenly on the sidewalk as a jolt of pain goes through him for the third time. It causes a few disgruntled murmurs and a “Fucking tourist” from people behind him. His hand starts trembling and beads of sweat break out along his forehead. Fuck!

Agent recognises that her handler is fighting some serious discomfort and a possible panic attack and carefully guides him out of the flow of pedestrians to the relative safety of the closed store fronts. She's aware once he’s out of harm’s way Phil can get his breathing under control and take his meds. She pesters him until he takes what he needs then lies in the ‘down stay’ position facing Phil remaining alert for any additional signs of panic or PTSD.

The waves of nausea that accompany the stabbing pains in his arm running up into his chest, eventually pass enough for him to take one deep breath then another until his breathing slowly normalises and the pain becomes bearable. After a few more minutes of leaning against a shop doorway, he recovers sufficiently to let Agent know he’s ready to continue. He can cope with the dull throb of his hip and thigh; those are pretty much a constant in his life anyhow.

He knows this is her job, it's what she's been trained to do but Phil's so proud of Agent when she does everything that’s been asked of her or she understands what task she needs to undertake to keep him safe without being instructed. Oh, she has her off days just like any other working dog (or human for that matter) when she's a mini nightmare but her nature is such that those are few and far between and when he really needs her, like tonight, she's right there. Once again he wonders where he’d be without her and makes a quiet fuss of her before they join the flow on the sidewalk again.

Slowly the team heads off in the direction of the restaurant. By the time they reach it they’re approaching ten minutes late and Clint’s already there waiting for Phil outside. His head’s down and his hands are pushed into his pants’ pockets. He appears to be deep in thought which gives Phil a few seconds to study him unobserved. For that brief, precious moment the pain in his chest is replaced by tightness that has nothing has nothing to do with his injury and everything to do with the man standing before him. The corner of his mouth turns up and the tension eases around his eyes. God, it's good to see him again.

Clint senses a presence and looks up with the beautiful smile that Phil is so desperate to see. It broadens as the other man gets closer. It seems the ex-Army Ranger’s not the only one who's been looking forward to seeing a certain someone again.

“Hey,” Clint says happily and reaches out to rest his hand on Phil's arm. The other man flinches and pulls back. It's an involuntary reaction caused by the pain he’s been experiencing all day but he frowns and shakes his head dreading the next part. Because...and there it is. The look he hoped never to see on Clint’s face. Hurt. It’s only there for a few seconds - Clint covers it as best he can with another smile as he withdraws his hand to rub the back of his neck instead.

Phil’s always been very good at reading when people are trying to hide things, more so since he was injured, but it doesn’t take a genius to know Clint is upset by his reaction. Really upset.

He can’t do this. Not tonight. Jesus! He’s such a fucking idiot. He’s vulnerable when he’s in pain. He knows that. It’s difficult for him to conceal his emotions or sometimes he hides them too much. Either way it leads to misunderstandings. He’s not sure he can pretend Clint’s response doesn’t wound him as much as his flinch hurt Clint. Ironically, it doesn’t occur to him that the younger man’s reaction was every bit as unintentional as his own. Apparently pain also makes him selfish.

“Clint...I can’t. I’m sorry. I...I need to go.” Shaking his head, he backs away from the photographer to leave but Clint's next words and the heat behind them surprise him into stopping.

“So that's it? One mistake and you take off?”

Phil stares at Clint, his own expression carefully blank. The hurt's back but this time Clint makes no attempt to hide it. There's also a flash of anger which both intrigues and irritates the older man turning his eyes hard. Agent, sensing the tension radiating from her handler, immediately places herself between him and Clint to give him some much needed space.

Watching the dog's protective behaviour, Clint sighs and drops his gaze to the ground. The next time he looks up at Phil, it’s with a kicked puppy expression and the heated tone has become wistful. “I’m sorry I touched you. I didn’t think. When we left each other last time...I kinda thought...the kiss…I..... If I was wrong, I'm sorry.”

His voice is low and despondent as he continues. “I'm not Daisy or Nick or whoever else that knows you better than me. I'm gonna make mistakes with you no matter how hard I try. But don’t bail on me, Phil. It's our second date. Give me a chance. Give _us_ a chance.”

Phil’s eyes have never left Clint but the hardness that was there has gone. Jesus! He really _is_ a fucking idiot. In just a few minutes he's almost ruined everything. He's made Clint believe _he's_ to blame for his pulling away. His body vibrates with anger and frustration at himself triggering another wave of pain. He pushes it down as best he can trying to keep it from Clint.

The press of Agent’s head against his leg, as always, helps him bring his emotions under control and with just a slight break in his voice he apologises.

“I’m so sorry, Clint. I should have called. I should have cancelled tonight.”

The photographer shuts his eyes at Phil’s words believing this is it. That just as they get together, they’re over. Realising he’s making things worse, Phil tries again.

“No. I mean…you were right. About the kiss. I want this. Us.”

Clint looks at Phil again, his face hopeful and wishes for a second he hadn’t; the anguish in the other man’s expression almost breaks his heart. He goes to say something comforting but stops himself remembering what Sam said about not interrupting if Phil starts to open up. Instead, he waits for Phil to continue.

“It’s just...I…I don’t...I can’t...Dammit! I’m messing this up.” He stops talking and drops his head forward worried that his frustration is going to get the better of him. The muscles in his jaw are clenched tight as he tries to reign in his feelings and organise his thoughts.

Shit! Clint’s usually the one who has trouble expressing himself. This time when he speaks his words are rational if a little forlorn. “We need to talk, don’t we?”

Phil tilts his head to the side and glances up at the younger man. His expression is serious; lips pressed tight together and his mouth turned down. For a second Clint’s not only worried, he’s shit scared. Phil nods.

“Here or somewhere else?” Clint asks gently giving him the option to go somewhere more familiar.

Phil's eyes flick to the window. Every table looks to be occupied. He doesn't really want to go in but he doesn't want to go somewhere else either. Clint's chosen this place for a reason. Besides, he doesn't want to fuck up any more than he has already.

“Here’s fine.”

Phil's voice sounds tired almost resigned. Clint tries hard to keep his disappointment from showing. Not quite the date he was hoping for. Maybe some hand holding, possibly even a few porno noises he knows he makes when he eats here, definitely more kissing. But he accepts the fact that's not on the menu…not tonight anyway. God, he hopes it’s just for tonight.

“I better make sure we can get a table. Come with me?” He holds the door open.

Phil hesitates. Clint realises he’s not keen to go inside with him just yet and he can understand that. It’s busy. No more than usual - it's always busy - but he's used to it. He guesses Phil’s not. So he doesn’t push. Phil extended that courtesy to him before, it’s only right he returns it now.

“Look, why don't you stay here? I know the owner but I guess even he can't swing it if the place is full.” He wrinkles up his nose in an embarrassed grin as his hand strays to the back of his neck again. “I shoulda booked.”

Phil’s mouth quirks up in a brief smile which manages to reach his eyes. Clint’s trying so hard. The least he can do is follow suit. He squares his shoulders and nods.

“After you,” he says. Surprisingly, his voice is steady even though his stomach’s churning.

 

***

 

“...understand but this evening we’re full… That’s nice for your husband, ma’am. I’m sure he enjoys being Public Health Inspector for the State of New York. What I’m not so sure about is that he’d appreciate you using his job as a means to threaten me into booking a table for you which _doesn’t...actually...exist_.”

But he's talking to dead air. All through the conversation, the man’s voice has been patient and controlled. When he hangs up he gently places the phone back in the cradle. He takes a deep breath and sighs. He hesitates a moment then he picks up the handset and slams it down a couple of times before leaving it there. He feels bad for the phone.

“Now _that_ sounded like a fun conversation. I thought I was gonna see you get angry there for a second.”

The man’s tangled mess of dark curls sways a little as he turns quickly to face the photographer. His face breaks out in a pleased smile.

“Uhhh, no. Takes more than that for the Other Guy to make an appearance.”

Clint and Natasha’s friend, Bruce Banner, isn't a big hugger but he never fails to make an exception for the two people who saved his life. He pulls Clint into a deep embrace before letting him go.

Bruce was a gifted scientist and doctor, who suffers from some pretty serious anger management issues. He’d almost ended up in court on several occasions during his time as a resident when he and the Administration came to blows (figuratively although almost literally on several occasions) over the treatment of some of the hospital’s patients. It further escalated when he transferred to medical research and eventually discovered that the military had been given access to one of his experiments without his knowledge.

Several years ago he finally lost his job and almost his freedom after destroying his research results and striking out at the wrong person - a General Thaddeus Ross, the father of his then girlfriend, Betty. It turned out the General had tried to use Bruce’s experiment for a military bio-tech enhancement project which enraged the good doctor. It was Natasha and Clint who helped him piece his life together again and arranged for him to leave the U.S. for Calcutta. There he spent his time practising medicine with the poor and needy before travelling to Bhutan and Nepal where he continued medicine but learned the art of cooking as well as the benefits of deep meditation.

Finally able to keep his anger under control he returned Stateside to open a restaurant, ‘This Guy’s Kitchen’ (the Other Guy being his rage monster that appears when he’s angry), which specialises in the traditional cuisine of the Himalayas. It’s been a massive success with its excellent food and haphazard appearance and some nights, like tonight, the phone seems to ring off the hook.

It’s a huge departure from his previous life but Bruce is happy. More happy than he ever imagined possible.

Clint gestures to the man standing beside him. “Bruce, this is Phil. Phil, this is Bruce owner and genius behind ‘This Guy’s Kitchen’.”

The two men exchange glances; both are wary. After twenty-five years with the Rangers for Phil and several years in hiding for Bruce, each senses something isn’t quite right with the other but neither picks up anything threatening as yet. They acknowledge each other with a nod and a cautious smile.

“Welcome to the Kitchen,” Bruce tells him.

“I’m glad Clint knows the owner. I hear getting a table can be a little hard on phones,” Phil deadpans.

It’s a weak attempt at humour but Bruce’s smile becomes warmer, a bit more relaxed. He notices Agent standing quietly between Phil’s legs but makes no move to speak to her. He’s had services dogs in the restaurant before and as much as he’d like to do the opposite, he knows not to acknowledge them when they’re working. He notes she's a beautiful dog and extremely well behaved but he keeps that to himself. Some handlers like to talk about their dog, others don't and Bruce likes to err on the side of caution.

In his head Clint gives a sigh of relief. He knows Bruce is no fan of the military and Phil’s not in a great way tonight - although he’s covering it well in front of Bruce - so as first meeting’s go this has been pretty good. Hopefully good enough to get a table.

“Sooo, Doc. I know I’m probably chancing my ass but you got a table for two?”

Bruce hesitates far second prompting Clint to quickly survey the restaurant and add, “I mean don’t sweat it if you're really busy...whiiiich you are. Sorry, man. Aww balls! I knew I shoulda booked.”

“No, no. It's not that. Natasha booked a table for you a few nights ago. I uh, kinda thought you knew.”

Phil drops his head forward to cover a smile. He’s not known Clint long but his ‘last minute, let’s see what happens’ outlook on life, so completely at odds with his own ‘plan every detail but have a backup for the backup’ frame of mind, is strangely welcome. He’s glad however Clint has at least one friend who looks out for him. Possibly two if he considers Banner.

Clint huff's out a laugh. “Sneaky red-haired ninja!”

Bruce on the other hand gives a shy smile.The scientist has held a flame for Natasha as long as Clint can remember but he's never followed it through. For all he has a wild temper when he's angry, the rest of the time he's incredibly shy and would rather bite out his own tongue than tell her how he feels. For his part, Clint’s never been entirely sure if the feeling’s mutual with Tasha so he's never pushed the issue.

“You’re out on the deck...just the two of you. Tasha...uhhh...thought you might like some privacy.” There’s a flash of a smile again.

It’s not the first time Clint’s enjoyed a meal out there although it’s usually with the sneaky red-haired ninja. The area can easily take five tables and is often set up for private parties so Bruce is giving up a decent revenue by keeping it just for him and Phil. He really appreciates the gesture.

“Phil, it's your first time here. Would you like us just to bring you a few things to try?”

It's a good idea. It would give them time to settle if Bruce chooses something for them. He owes Clint an explanation for his actions earlier. And an apology.

“I’d appreciate that. Thank you,” Phil tells him quietly. Bruce nods and disappears off to the kitchen his thoughts full of momos, bandel tareko, kukhura ko masu and a [Dal Bhat](http://theculturetrip.com/asia/nepal/articles/nepalese-food-wholesome-himalayan-bites/) maybe washed down with cups of chiya.

Clint, grateful for Bruce's perceptiveness, heads to the deck first - makes sense, he knows where he’s going - but when they get there, it becomes apparent that neither man wants to sit at the table just yet even if Clint thinks Phil should sit down before he falls down. They opt to lean side-by-side against the sturdy rail enclosing the deck. Again Phil makes sure he's on Clint's hearing side. Agent sits beside her handler still sensitive to his state of mind and therefore still alert and ready.

Ropes of mason jars with tea-lights hanging from post to post are lit giving off a soft glow. It’s nice. More than that, it’s calming.

Phil casts a sideways glance at Clint. He's facing forward so Phil keeps his head turned towards the other man as he drops his hand next to Clint's. Hesitantly, his fingers search for the photographer's and when they make contact, he laces them together.

“Is this okay?” he asks softly.

Clint looks down at their hands then back at Phil. He sees hope mixed with vulnerability in the older man's eyes.

He wants to tell Phil it's not okay. That he can't fuck around with his feelings like this. But the truth is, this was never going to be an easy relationship. Sam told him as much, warned him even. There will be times when Phil is suffering badly from PTSD or depression or pain and will react badly so if he wants this to work he’s going to have to learn to adapt and try not to take mood swings personally.

But he also remembers Sam saying he shouldn’t take any shit either. It’s a fine line to walk. Fuck! He's walked a fine line all his life. Why should this be any different? He's sure Phil has his reasons for doing what he did he just wishes he knew what they were so he can try to understand.

Phil’s made the first move so instead of calling him on it, Clint gives a gentle squeeze of his hand and nods. The warm smile accompanying the gesture is reassuring and gives Phil the strength to speak.

“You were right earlier - you don't know me. Yet.”

Shit! That’s a tough sentence to hear even though he said it originally. But that last word is enough to make Clint's heart beat a little faster - it means there's still hope. Once again he says nothing. He waits for Phil to continue even though he’s nervous as hell at what he’s going to say.

Phil takes a deep breath and slowly lets it out. His first words chill Clint to the bone.

“I died. In Afghanistan. Several times. But the medical team…didn't give up. Apparently they were under orders from my CO to take heroic measures if anything should happen to me.”

Phil shrugs.

“I’m still not sure why. I’ve never had a straight answer. But...it was against my wishes. The Rangers was my life, my family. My mom and dad were dead; I have no siblings, no other relatives; there was no lover, no husband to come home to - so I had always made it clear if I was ever injured badly enough that I couldn't serve, I didn't want to be brought back. Nick knew that but for some reason he chose to ignore it.”

He huffs out a short but painful laugh. His recruiter, CO, and best friend, even now, had always been good at electing to ignore decisions he felt were “stupid-ass” and apparently this had been one.

“I don't remember much about that day or the early days that followed. Not clearly. I know they re-started my heart three times. I know at certain points they held me down - had to apparently - but it hurt like hell and...it was terrifying. I know that, even with the drugs they pumped into me, I've never felt pain like it. I know I wanted them to let me die…”

He stops. It’s hard remembering. It’s even harder to talk about but Clint deserves to know. Needs to know.

“I guess...I’m telling you this because I don’t want you to think you touching me had anything to do with me pulling away. It didn't. Sometimes the pain just gets too much. Too near the surface and I can’t hide it. Today is one of those days. _That's_ why I should have cancelled. Not because I don't want to be with you. God knows, and at the risk of putting you off your food, seeing you tonight was the main thing keeping me going throughout the day. I’m sorry, Clint. I’m so sorry if I made you believe otherwise.”

He drops his head forward, jaw clenched tight, eyebrows pulled together in a frown. He’s either explained his reasons for trying to leave as best he can to Clint or scared him into getting the fuck out. Either way, he’s been as open as he can.

There's silence from Clint as he processes what Phil's told him. The spices Bruce and Pertemba are using must be really potent tonight because his eyes feel prickly and are tearing up. He blinks them away and rubs his nose violently with the heel of his hand almost taking the damn thing off. There’s only a slight catch in his voice as he speaks.

“Fuck! You really know how to sucker punch a guy in the balls.”

“Rangers combat training-101.”

“Too soon,” Clint tells him, letting go of his hand. He pushes off the rail to stand slightly away from the other man. Phil's stomach drops. Good going, Coulson. Congratulations on fucking it up...again. He waits. He’s good at that.

It's a moment or two before Clint speaks again. “You're an asshole!”

Phil doesn’t dispute the fact and instead nods his agreement. “Apparently.”

“Would it be okay if I held you right now?”

Talk about a sucker punch to the balls. It takes Phil totally by surprise having thought he’d blown it completely. He considers it for a second. Having been asked, his body will expect the touch so he shouldn't flinch too much and...it would actually be nice to be held.

“That... Yes. I'd like that.”

Clint turns towards him. Phil starts move away from the rail too but Clint tells him to stay where he is. Confused for a second he frowns but then he realises what Clint means and opens his legs for the photographer to stand between them. Clint carefully wraps his arms around Phil’s shoulders and holds him gently against his chest. His grip is loose enough that the older man can pull free if he needs to but tight enough to be reassuring. Phil rests his head against him with his arms around Clint’s waist. His body’s still tense but it's with pain as much as anything else. The physical contact feels good. The steady rhythm of Clint’s heartbeat is calming.

“Don’t shut me out, Phil,” Clint whispers. “Please. I want to be there for you. For us. I can’t do that if you don’t talk to me.”

After a brief pause the ex-Army Ranger nods. This is about the point his previous relationships have gone south. Not so much at a second date but when the first major bump in the road appears. Only one guy made it to a flashback before he bailed. The rest couldn't handle the sudden changes in mood or the flinching. The fact that this has happened so early on and Clint isn't running screaming for the hills is encouraging.

The heat emanating from Phil is enough to make Clint comment on it. “Shit! You’re so hot.”

He can feel the other man’s mouth curving up in a smile. It’s an echo of Hill’s words from a few weeks ago.

“Thanks,” he says changing his head position to sound less muffled so that Clint can hear him. “You look pretty good too.”

“Your humour sucks. You know that, right? Seriously. You're like a furnace.”

“A benefit of having a meltdown,” Phil comments dryly.

Clint’s not sure what to say to that so he says nothing. They remain holding each other in silence, Phil's body slowly relaxing under Clint's touch. It’s going to be okay. It _has_ to be okay because he doesn't want to lose this. He doesn't want to lose Phil.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This Guy's Kitchen, the food prepared by Bruce for Phil and Clint...  
> \- momos - dumplings stuffed with a choice of meat or vegetables and a mix of spices  
> \- bandel tareko - grilled wild boar and spices  
> \- kukhura ko masu - a Nepalese type of chicken curry  
> \- Dal Bhat consisting of roti, an unleavened bread centre, alongside lentils surrounded by pickles, curried vegetables, yoghurt, and chutney  
> \- chiya, a traditional Nepalese spiced tea


	5. Kissing in the kitchen...

Phil's house is in the Prospect Lefferts Gardens area of Brooklyn. A couple of blocks away from Prospect Park on Clarkson Ave, it turns out to be a beautiful barrel front limestone. Not at all what Clint expected but it doesn't stop him from admiring its curves and lines as they climb the steps to the front door.

“Wow. This is gorgeous,” he tells Phil with obvious enthusiasm. His photographer's eye picks up small details on the stone- and woodwork that most people would probably miss. The older man ducks his head and gives him a shy but pleased half-smile as he opens the door.

After meeting up to take Agent for a late afternoon walk in the park, Phil had offered to make dinner at his place much to Clint’s delight. Neither of them mentioned it but last time had been a strain on both men; a quiet evening just the two of them (well technically three) was a welcome idea and Clint readily agreed. Phil would also be at home which would hopefully put him more at ease, although during their time in the park he appeared to be relaxed and comfortable with Clint.

Phil enters first to deactivate the high-end security system (the one that Hill and Fury bypass most mornings without breaking a sweat which pisses him off no end; the fact it's the type of thing they do professionally does little to ease his annoyance). He goes through the usual routine of removing Agent’s vest and hanging up her leash along with his jacket. She sits expectantly and he signs her 'off duty’ command which causes her to run through the lower part of the house in excitement for a few moments making Clint laugh. He’s only seen her ‘on duty’ when she’s calm and chilled. When Hill and Fury are here it’s been known for her to end up playing with Phil's ex CO which is quite a sight to behold - all 6’2” of him being batted into submission by the gentle service dog.

With an easy smile Phil takes Clint's jacket and hangs it beside his. Dodging Agent sliding towards them on the wooden floor then scampering away again, her claws skittering as she desperately tries to gain traction, he leads a still laughing Clint through the pocket doors into the parlour living room.

Someone, Phil maybe or a previous occupant, has added their own finishing touches when the house was modernised. But subtly. They’d kept a lot of the original crafted period details including the ornate woodwork and parquet floors. And apparently for Clint it just keeps getting better as he continues to make appreciative noises. He stops short when he sees the stunning pier mirror, the room’s centrepiece.

“Shit, Phil. This place is really something. _That_ is amazing. Most people would have ripped it out and stuck up a flat-screen.”

“Thank you,” Phil tells him with a slight wince at the thought. It’s not that he has much use for mirrors - generally any glimpses of himself in it are purely accidental - but it’s the intricate beauty of the piece that makes him keep it. That and memories of when he was a kid - his mom making sure everything was just so before she left for work; smoothing down her skirt and the collar of her jacket before kissing him lightly on the forehead as she went out the door.

He’s genuinely pleased that Clint likes his home and it shows. There's a slight flush to his cheeks which Clint recognises from other times Phil's been happy or excited about something and the photographer has to admit he loves to see that look on Phil. It makes him appear so much more relaxed and at peace with himself. Plus he just looks so damn sexy.

“It was my home growing up. Well… from when I was nine,” he corrects. “My Mom decided to move back from Wisconsin after my Dad died. It was my grandparents’ place originally so I guess it’s always been in the family. I finished having it modernised a few years back. Helping out gave me something to do while I was getting back on my feet.”

So his father died when he was a kid too - something else they had in common, although he very much doubts Phil’s pop died an idiot’s death like his own. He very much doubts Phil's pop was an idiot at all. Clint remembers being told about Wisconsin when they were at Yo-Yo’s and nudges him with his shoulder giving him a mischievous smile. “I like that we’d have been neighbours when you were a kid.”

“Hate to break it to you, _neighbour_ , but I doubt you’d have been born then,” Phil teases, his own smile wide, eyes twinkling with humour.

Clint frowns as he considers that. Shit! Phil’s probably right. But only just the photographer figures. Either way, he doesn’t much care. Phil’s age isn’t really a concern for him.

“Come through to the kitchen. I'll put on some coffee.”

Agent, having calmed down again, leads the way, tail wagging and tongue lolling, with the two men following behind. They go through a centre parlour which features a gorgeous timber framed fireplace with original built-ins on either side. Clint can imagine being cuddled up on the soft leather couch in front of it with Phil when the snow’s deep outside during the winter. The thought makes him feel warm as though the logs are already cracking and spitting in the grate, flames giving off a comforting glow. He's getting a little ahead of himself but hey, a guy can think happy thoughts, right?

Another set of pocket doors takes them to the dining area complete with wainscoting and coffered ceilings. This room has been knocked through to the kitchen making it a good sized and pretty comfortable area. Hill, Fury and Coulson have spent many hours here drinking coffee, eating pastries and laying out the bones for their next job (although the actual fleshing out process happens in the basement).

Phil’s just put fresh water in her bowl and after taking a long drink, Agent goes to her mat in the corner (one of several scattered throughout the house) flopping down with a deep sigh, happy to be home. Although she’s always sensitive to Phil’s state of mind and will react if she senses he’s needing assistance, she takes advantage of her ‘downtime’ and relaxes on her bed. Phil is calm and happy for now and that’s all good. Besides the ‘dog-man’ is here and her instinct is to trust him around her charge as she does with ‘butt-rubs-lady’ (Hill) and ‘play-Agent-man’ (Fury).

“Fuck! Do you cook...y’know professionally?” Clint asks, staring at the array of copper pots and pans hanging against one of the walls. Compared to Phil's nine, he has three, decidedly basic and certainly not copper, and one has a hole in it. Don’t ask. Oh and a wok and generally he cooks most stuff using the wok (well, it's a damn useful multipurpose cooking-thing). Besides who needs pots and pans when take-out’s convenient, stress free, and - most importantly - no pots n pans.

Phil shrugs as he selects then grinds some coffee beans (this man has just become a whole new level of awesome in Clint’s eyes).

“I dabble,” he says modestly over the noise of the grinder.

“Dabble my ass,” Clint mutters. Hmm. Actually he'd rather like Phil to dabble his ass. Enough of the smutty thoughts, Clint Barton. “Hey, what’s this little cute one?”

He’s pointing to a tiny pot about 9cm in diameter.

”It’s a mini butter pan. It's a kitchen must have.”

Clint raises an eyebrow in an “are you kidding me?” gesture cuz what the fuck is a mini butter pan? Phil maintains it's a necessity in a kitchen leaving Clint with the ‘what the fuck’ expression. He doesn’t know _anyone_ with a mini fucking butter pan. It appears he’s stumbled onto the fact that the ex-Army Ranger is a totally serious foodie. It worries the photographer a little; he's been known to eat two-day old pizza he's found under a cushion of his couch - once he’s picked the fluff off obviously; he’s got _some_ standards!  

As Phil adds the fresh ground coffee to the machine, he nods to a set of french doors with overhead stained glass windows. “The sunroom’s through there and there’s a door that leads through the laundry room onto the deck. It’s still kinda nice; I thought maybe we could have some coffee outside before we cook.”

“ _We_ cook? I thought you were the one with the mad kitchen skills. Y’know - having all the cute little butter pans n shit.”

Phil rolls his eyes. “You’re such an ass!”

Clint grins at him. He’s so happy that things are good between them again. It’s not to say Phil won’t have another episode like he had a few nights ago but after Phil opened up to him and Clint did some talking of his own, they both understand each other a little better. The rest will come with time - he hopes.

Phil checks there’s plenty of water in the coffeemaker before switching it on then turns to face the photographer. “Sooo… strong, smooth and hot if I remember correctly.”

Clint turns scarlet and rubs the back of his neck. “Fuck! You’re never going to let me forget that, are you?”

Phil just gives him a wicked smile and raises his eyebrows in a teasing gesture.

Clint narrows his eyes and growls, “Jesus! I wanna kiss that stupid smirk right off your stupid face!”

Phil leans his ass against the kitchen counter, hands on either side of his hips, fingers of his right hand curled loosely round the edge. He tilts his head to the side.

“So what's stopping you?” he asks. From the way his voice has deepened and gone even more gravelly he’s clearly making it a challenge.

Encouraged by Phil’s demeanour and tone, Clint's suddenly right there in front of him. Phil’s smirk is even more irritating than before if that’s even possible. Oh yeah! Challenge accepted. He definitely wants to kiss that stupid, sexy, handsome face.

Clint drops his eyes to the other man’s lips. The tip of Phil’s tongue sneaks out to lick them before it disappears again. Well, that’s pretty fucking hot! Sub-consciously, Clint mimics the action. He looks into Phil’s eyes for a moment. They're twinkling and the lines in the corners have deepened. He gives Clint a slight nod.

Slowly, carefully Clint inches towards Phil giving him time to change his mind; to say no. He doesn’t. He has no intention of doing so but he appreciates the gesture. His eyes remains fixed on the other man, waiting until the last moment before closing them. His smile - no longer a smirk - is shy but inviting. It’s probably a good thing as the concept of no doesn’t exist for either of them once their lips touch. The same electricity that sparked between them in the school car park flares and crackles again, taking their breath away.

Taking a leaf out of Phil's book, Clint keeps the kiss soft and slow until the other man parts his lips. Accepting the invitation he dips his tongue inside, teasing Phil’s with his own. His hands come up to bracket Phil’s face, thumbs stroking his cheekbones. The ex-Army Ranger remembers wondering what they would feel like and he's discovering they feel incredible as they gently brush against his skin. Strong and sure. And perfect.

One of them moans, neither is sure who but it encourages a deepening of the kiss; mouths open, tongue sliding against tongue before lips press hard together again. Clint can feel the movement of Phil's jaw muscles beneath his hands as he sucks and nips at Clint’s bottom lip before thrusting his tongue inside the younger man’s mouth again. Any gentleness between them has gone and it’s now demanding and hungry. Their breathing is becoming heavier, noisier - quick gasps when they can, their mouths otherwise engaged with the whole kissing thing.

Phil’s right hand is heavy against Clint’s chest, sliding up to his shoulder, his fingers curling over the muscle and bone. His grip tightens and loosens in rhythm with the kiss. Then he does that thing… that fucking hot thing… trapping Clint’s bottom lip between his teeth as his tongue sweeps across it. Fuck! There’s no mistaking it’s Clint making the noise this time.

He’s hard in his pants. Rock fucking hard. Like a teenager. Phil’s thigh has slipped between his at some point so that his cock’s not only pushing against his zipper but also Phil’s leg. Any more of this he’s going to be dry humping the other man… and probably come in his underwear at the same time.

However any further thought of kissing or coming disappears as Phil’s leg jerks hard into Clint's crotch. Fortunately not enough to cause damage but enough to make him wince.

He breaks away panting.

“Fuck!” he breathes, dropping a hand to his balls.

“Shit! Sorry. You okay?” The ex-Army Ranger’s breath is also coming in short gasps.

“Yeah but the fuck, Phil?”

“Not me.”

They both look down to see Agent pawing at Phil's foot, nudging his leg with her head. Phil reaches down to touch her giving her a reassuring pat then signs 'I’m OK’.

“Have we just been cock-blocked by your dog? Seriously?”

Phil snorts out a laugh at Clint’s wording. “Apparently, yes.”

He bites his lip trying to prevent another snort from escaping but fails miserably this time almost choking in the process. He gives up and laughs outright leaning his forehead against Clint’s shoulder.

“No. Not funny, Coulson. Sooo not funny,” Clint whines, not so much from his tender balls but more from the abrupt halting of the kiss and the frustrating thought of what it could have lead to.  The ridiculousness of the situation soon kicks in however and he joins Phil in a fit of the giggles with Agent watching - ears twitching, head tilted to the side and a somewhat bemused expression on her face.

Eventually Phil calms down enough to apologise and explain. He slumps back against the countertop with Clint on one side of him and Agent pressed against his leg on the other. He drops his hand to her head to gently stroke behind her ear.

“I’m so sorry. It didn’t even occur to me. Agent’s been trained to pick up certain signs - rises in temperature; difficulty breathing; increased heart-rate - and associate them with panic attacks or flashbacks then she'll intervene until it's over. So when we kissed…” He trails off and shrugs.

Clint gives him a sympathetic nod. “Must be a bitch on the love life.”

Phil sighs. “Yeah. Well, it’s uh...been a while.”

The photographer raises an eyebrow.

“A while,” he repeats just managing to stop an eyeroll. There’s no need for Clint to know there’s been no-one since he was teamed with Agent almost three years ago.

“And she does this even when you’re...you know…” He mimes jerking off.

This time he _does_ allow the eyeroll which he figures is completely justified.

“Classy, Barton,” he tells Clint. “I don't exactly do it in front of her.”

Clint laughs. “That's good. I hate to think you might be getting a case of blue balls just ‘cause Agent believes you’re having a panic attack. Ah shit, sorry,” he says suddenly contrite. “I shouldn’t joke about it.”

Phil shakes his head with an embarrassed grin and tells him it’s fine. He doesn’t add that his mind’s in an okay place today. The other night was the worst he had felt in a long time and it could be months before another event occurs. He never takes that for granted though instead taking one day at a time.

He also doesn’t add that the photographer mimicking masterbating is a hell of a turn on. He can imagine Clint doing it for real: his calloused palm gripping his shaft, sliding up and down the hot skin of his cock in slow, teasing strokes; his mouth open, a slight smile playing on his lips as he nears the edge... Phil bites his own lip to stifle a groan but can do nothing about the telltale blush spreading across his face or the throb from his dick which has begun to harden again at the tempting thought. _Very_ tempting.

As though he knows what he's been thinking, Clint smirks at Phil who blushes even more furiously. Suspecting he's correct, Clint gives him a suggestive look. “So. Lemme get this right. I make your temperature rise?”

Okay. Phil sees where this is going. And yeah, he’s up for playing along. “Maybe…”

“Breathing difficult?”

“Possibly…”

They slowly lean towards each other. Clint's voice is almost a whisper.

“Increase your heart rate?”

“Definitely…”

Clint’s mouth is close to touching Phil’s when he growls, “Make you hard?”

Phil swallows and says thickly. “Yes. Fuck, yes.”

A nudge of Agent’s head against Phil’s leg stops play once again. She’s at Phil’s side and presses against his leg, pawing him, still going through the motions of assisting when he’s experiencing an episode.

Clint leans his forehead against Phil’s and sighs. “Any suggestions?”

“A few things maybe. Plus a potentially embarrassing chat with her trainer.”

“Fuck! I really hate your dog right now.” Clint says trying to glare at Agent but failing miserably as she gives him her special dog grin and wags her tail making a swooshing noise against the flooring now that she’s sitting again. He ends up smiling at her instead.

Phil gives him an amused look. “No you don’t,” he says knowing full well nothing could be further from the truth.

The photographer shakes his head. “Nah, of course I don’t… but shit, Phil. There’s got to be a way to do this.” He tilts his head to the side and rubs the back of his neck. “I really like the kissing stuff,” he says with a shy smile.

“You sort out the coffee. I’ll give Audrey a call.”

 

***

 

When Phil returns to the kitchen, the machine has finished brewing and the kitchen is filled with a glorious aroma of fresh coffee which permeates through the ground floor of the house. He inhales deeply and grins… strong, smooth and hot. Clint has obviously found the mugs and poured himself a cup leaving an empty one on the counter for him. He follows suit adding cream and sugar as usual then heads out to the deck where Clint has settled himself.

The photographer looks round when the door opens and smiles over the rim of his mug as Phil sits beside him.

“You’re my all time favourite hero. This coffee’s amazing!” he says taking a deep sniff of the steam rising from his mug and then sighing with appreciation.

Phil gives him a quick grin happy he’s done pretty well with the balance.

“Sooo…” Clint prompts suddenly impatient to hear about the phone call.

Phil takes a mouthful of his own coffee before replying. It was one of the most embarrassing conversations he’s had in awhile - all faux pas with Clint aside. Thankfully Audrey had been very understanding and considerate with her advice and suggestions. He can feel the blush rising in his cheeks already.

“Was it that bad?” asks Clint, trying hard to be sympathetic. He presses his lips against the rim of his mug as he does his best to hold back a grin. As before he knows he shouldn’t make fun of the situation. Agent being able to recognise when Phil is about to have an episode is about as serious as it gets. But the whole cock blocking thing has a disturbingly funny side.

“Yeah,” Phil replies trying to hold back his own smirk. “But the good news is, we think we have a solution. I need to teach her sometimes it’s okay for me to get…”

“Hot under the collar? Hot and bothered? Hot n horny?”

“You’re really not helping. But essentially yeah. And then...” Phil pauses. “...we need to get her used to it.”

“Used to it?"

“Uh-huh...” Phil doesn’t elaborate, just looks pointedly at Clint who, after a few seconds suddenly catches his drift.

“Oooooh. _Uuuuused_ to it.”

Phil’s beginning to lose count of the number of times he’s either wanted to or has actually eye rolled Clint. This one is epic and has the photographer snorting coffee out through his nose.

 

***

 

After Clint wipes the coffee from his face (and everywhere else) and Phil finally stops chuckling, the pair sit in comfortable silence or chatting quietly now and again. There’s no rush. It feels good just to be together.

Phil’s hand has found Clint’s again, much like it did the other night. The photographer really hadn’t figured him for being the tactile type and in truth he’s not but the ex-Army Ranger’s discovered he’s drawn to Clint’s hands and fingers and loves to touch them. And by happy coincidence, Clint’s discovered he loves to be touched. It’s incredibly intimate without being particularly sexual. It has the potential to be certainly, but for now Phil seems to have a knack of just making it feel _good_ and any tension that he’s held in his body slowly melts away. He’s almost at the point where he could be lulled to sleep when Phil’s voice breaks the silence.

“I guess we should make a start on dinner.” There’s a note of regret in his tone. Apparently he’s been enjoying the moment too.

Beside him Clint breathes in and lets go of a long, loud, theatrical sigh. “I guess,” he agrees equally reluctant but making much more of a deal out of it.

Phil laughs. “I had no idea you were such a drama queen.”

“But I’m _comfy_ ,” Clint pouts playing it up. And more genuinely adds, “And this is nice. Really nice.”

Phil nods in agreement and smiles fondly. He can’t argue that. He rubs his thumb across the other man’s knuckles a few times then gives his hand a gentle squeeze before letting go. He stands slightly awkwardly and stretches with a long groan, straightening the kinks out of his spine. It’s not Phil’s intention but to Clint it’s almost pornographic.

He watches hoping for a flash of skin but the damn button down shirt Phil’s wearing is too well tucked into his jeans. It's probably a good thing. He'd only want to do something dumb like kiss or nibble or lick any visible bit of flesh. He makes a noise of protest instead before allowing the other man to pull him up from his chair, and follows him through to the kitchen.

“So what’s on the menu?” Clint asks, leaning against the work surface as Phil moves about the room gathering ingredients and setting out kitchenware. Chicken breasts, smoked bacon, mushrooms, leeks, cream alternative, butter, a small tub of broth, a bottle of ginger ale (WTF???) and finally some fresh herbs and tagliatelle.

To Clint it kinda looks like chicken in a white wine sauce but the leeks, broth and ginger ale throw him. He says as much to Phil who turns to face him for a moment. With a shrug and a half-smile he says, “I… don’t drink. I don’t mind if you do but...”

Clint quickly shakes his head not wanting to dwell on the subject. Right now doesn’t seem the time to tell Phil about father dearest and how his love for booze destroyed his family. “Nah, it’s fine. Not much of a drinker myself. The odd beer now and again’s about my limit. So where do the broth and ginger ale come in?”

While he sets up a couple of chopping boards, one for him and one for Clint, Phil explains how he uses these as an alternative to wine; the ginger ale adding the crispness of a dry white and the broth giving it the base flavour if it’s needed. He’s a little relieved Clint doesn’t push for an explanation about his drinking as people sometimes have a want to do. He doesn’t think either of them are ready for the “My name’s Phil and I’m an alcoholic” speech. He’s not hiding it. Especially not from Clint and _especially_ not after everything they’d talked about at ‘This Guy’s Kitchen’. But it would be really nice to have a date where he feels he’s not causing any drama.

As they prepare the meal with Clint cutting the chicken and bacon into rough chunks, Phil doing the same with the vegetables and herbs, Clint asks him if Agent is the first dog he’s ever had. Phil ducks his head and gives the other man a sideways glance. His smile is wide and genuine as an image of the mutt he had when he was a kid pops into his mind.

“Not my first no,” he says softly. He pauses to turn the heat on under a deep frying pan and when it’s hot enough drops some butter into it, listening to it sizzle as it melts.

With Clint’s help he gets everything to the stove and begins cooking their food as he tells him about Bucky.

 

> _It’s been several lifetimes ago since Phil first owned a dog; back in Manitowoc, Wisconsin when his life revolved around playing little league baseball, working with his dad on his beautiful cherry red ‘62 Chevy Corvette and re-enacting the adventures of Captain America. He, of course, was Steve Rogers with his dog, Bucky, playing the part of James Buchanan Barnes._
> 
> _The dog was a strange looking mutt whose parentage would forever be a mystery but he followed Phil everywhere. The little boy was rarely without him, the pair really only being separated when he was at school. Even sleep was no match for the two of them no matter how much his mother frowned her disapproval when Phil would sneak the dog upstairs at bedtime. The frown generally softened into a kind of resigned affection however when she found the scruffy creature stretched over Phil’s legs as they slept soundly, her son’s mouth curled up in a contented smile._
> 
> _That was until the death of his father._
> 
> _It was a tragic event causing his mom and he to move to New York, specifically Brooklyn. A borough of around two and a half million people was no place for a dog used to what could comparatively be called a small town with its 33,000 inhabitants especially when his mom was going to be working two jobs to support them. And so Bucky had been left behind with a neighbour who promised to take good care of him (which he did, sending updates and the occasional photo to Phil’s mom a few times a year - she stopped showing these to Phil after the first one which broke his heart all over again, but she kept them faithfully for him to read when he was ready)._
> 
> _Although he loved his mother dearly and he knew deep down she was right, Phil never quite forgave her for leaving his dog behind. She wasn't being deliberately cruel but she didn’t understand the love a child has for their dog and completely missed her son’s double loss - his father and Bucky. Looking back it was understandable; she was still trying to process the death of the love of her life._
> 
> _But perhaps in a way she did understand, a least a little. When she wasn’t working, Phil’s mom would take him to Prospect Park a few blocks away from their home. At all times of the day it was full of people and their pets of various shapes, sizes and temperaments and Phil would be in his element petting the dogs of anyone who would let him. Most were more than happy to let him exercise their animals, playing fetch or chases; it saved them doing it after all. But all too soon the time would come for them to go home and a quiet sadness and longing would fall over the little boy._

“I remember talking to my mom about the dogs but… only if she asked. I don’t recall ever volunteering the information. I think it hurt her. Looking back, I don’t think it was deliberate. I think maybe… I just didn’t want to share that part of me.” He pauses for a moment lost in thought.

“So I guess things are full circle. I’m home… in Brooklyn not Wisconsin perhaps but... I have my dog again. Not that we run around playing Captain America. Well, not where anyone can see at least.”

He smiles at Clint who has a strange look on his face; not quite sad - probably more thoughtful than anything, perhaps even a little brooding. Phil holds out his hand to draw him closer which seems to break Clint out of his spell. He stands close beside the ex-Army Ranger and breaths in the incredible smell of melted butter accompanied by frying chicken and smoked bacon. It’s pretty damn good already. His mischievous side appearing once again, the photographer gives Phil a wink and a grin.

“Not denying you still have the hots for Captain America then?”

Phil snorts and ignores the question asking his own instead. “What about you? You ever had puppy dog eyes that you couldn’t resist? And I mean the canine kind. I’m sure you get the other kind often enough.”

This time it’s Clint’s turn to duck his head and look up at Phil. If his hands weren’t pushed deep into the pocket of his jeans one of them would have strayed to the back of his neck. Instead, he pulls his teeth across his bottom lip which nearly frazzles Phil’s brain. To distract himself he tips the leeks and mushrooms into the pan stirring them into the juices of the meat and the remainder of the butter.

“I did. Well, still kinda do… in a way,” he adds quickly seeing the ex-Army Ranger’s expression change from amused affection to sadness, probably at the thought of Clint losing his canine companion. “One night few years ago I went out for some pizza and I ended up coming home with a dog I rescued from some tracksuit mafia assholes near my building. He’s such an awesome guy I didn’t want to give him up but I was travelling so much at the time, it wasn’t fair y’know? But there was no way I was gonna let him end up in a shelter. So Katie-Kate…” he pauses for a second wondering if he’s mentioned Kate to Phil.

“Your friend from the gallery?” he prompts opening the ginger ale and pouring some into the pan. It spits and hisses at him. He adds a little more as it calms to an annoyed bubbling. He’d never realised before this was such an angry dish.

Clint smiles. “Yeah, Kate has him most of the time now. He’s better off I guess but… I still kinda miss him. His name’s Lucky but we call him Pizza Dog. He’ll do anything for pizza and I mean _anything_ \- almost behave even. He’s mostly golden lab, I guess, with probably twenty kinds of other dog in the mix. He’s got one eye and walks with a limp but I swear, he’s got the most awesome grin.”

Clint proceeds to spend the next twenty minutes regaling Phil with tales of ‘Lucky the Pizza Dog’ and by the end of it has the other man almost in tears laughing. It's a good look he decides. He feels a familiar longing to kiss the other man again.

“So how’s the food doing?” he asks.

Phil gives it a quick scan and adds a little of the broth. “About five or so minutes then the herbs and cream go in. The tagliatelli takes about three to four and we’re good to go.”

Clint nods. “Sooo… have we got time to test the new command for Agent?”

Phil assesses and smiles. “It’s doable.”

It's a disaster of course. Phil’s well aware new commands aren’t learned overnight and Clint is beginning to realise that too. However, with time and patience, the hope is she'll associate the sign “Kiss OK” with the action and come to understand that her charge needs some down time too. The added difficulty will be teaching Agent to tell the difference between a genuine PTSD episode and, well… being “hot and bothered” as Clint put it (although perhaps “hot and horny” was more accurate). The two men remain optimistic they’ll get there.

  


***

 

After they’ve eaten and walked Agent, the pair are lying on the couch in the centre parlour almost asleep. Their current state of relaxation is helped along by some totally chill BB King Phil set up on his turntable. The King of Blues’ awesome voice and his trademark fluid string bending style on the guitar are perfect for the way they feel after such incredible food (of which Clint ate way too much). Phil does _not_ dabble - he’s a fucking culinary genius!

Following assurances from Phil that he’ll be fine and a promise that he’ll say if that changes, Clint gets himself comfortable in the ‘V’ of Phil’s legs, his body stretched along Phil’s, the back of his head resting against the other man’s chest.

“Clint… talk to me,” Phil says softly. He thinks about the calluses on Clint's palms and reaches down to lift the younger man’s hand to play with his fingers; stroking them with the pad of this thumb, touching them with his fingertips, sliding his own fingers up and down them. His light touch is gentle, caressing prompting a sigh from Clint. Phil’s thumb brushes over the callouses and ridges. “Tell me how you got these. Tell me how you got into archery. Or photography. Or…”

“I used to be in the circus,” Clint blurts out.

“Huh,” Phil says in a strangely unfazed way completely accepting what the photographer’s told him as though he’s just talked about putting on a pair of socks.

Clint has to give him points for the way Phil reacts. The teasing of his fingers doesn’t so much as pause. Most folk tend to be disbelieving or take the piss so having a fairly neutral reaction's almost refreshing. The only problem is he's not sure what to say next.

“If you feel like telling me, I’d like to know more about it but… you don’t have to,” Phil says as if understanding what Clint's thinking. He sounds sincere at least which encourages him to continue.

“My life as a kid wasn't so great. My dad was…” he pauses for a moment and then shrugs. “... a fuck up. He drank. He was violent. He was dumb. He managed to take himself out one night by wrapping his car around a tree. I guess driving while being too pissed to stand will do that. The real kicker was, he killed my mom too. I’ve never been able to understand why she went with him that night. Maybe he didn't give her a choice; maybe she thought she was protecting us; maybe she'd just had enough... suicide by drunk. I dunno.”

Phil says nothing as Clint goes silent for a time, obviously lost in thought. His heart aches for the younger man but unlike Clint, he has years of practice at schooling his reactions and doesn't let it show.

It’s more, much more than Clint means to say. He just intended to talk about his time with Carson’s not reveal his life story but it doesn’t bother him as much as he thought it would. He doesn't dwell on it however and moves onto the circus. Of course, this means mentioning Barney.

“So, anyway…my brother and I… did I tell you I had a brother? I had a brother, Barney. We were in the system - group homes on and off and foster carers. It was a really shit time for us. Worse than having an asshole for a dad - better the devil you know, eh?”

He gives a strange, sad little laugh before continuing.

“Barney tried keep us safe as we were moved around - for awhile at least - and there was one foster family that was… special. I really liked it there. For the first time in a long time I guess I felt cared for. Safe even.”

He shrugs. “Shoulda known better to get my hopes up.

Anyway eventually, Barney wanted to get away. Too many rules, not enough fun. The circus was in town for a few weeks. He was there every chance he got; skipping school when he had to, missing meals with the foster family, not coming back to the house to sleep. Then one night, just before the circus was due to leave, he packed everything we had and... we left. All the time he spent there was to get himself known by the circus folks so that when we joined they'd be half expecting us… well him. I was just another mouth to feed for a while. Skinny little kid with no skills except help with meals, fetch and carry, and shovel animal shit.

Then I picked up a bow.

I'd been watching Trickshot from under the canvas so when he went for a smoke I snuck in like a little thief, took his bow and pretty much wrenched my shoulder and sprained my wrist it was so damn tight. But I hit the boss almost dead centre with the few arrows I managed to let loose. He damned near killed me when he found me. ‘ _Never touch my bow_ ,’ he told us both day one my brother and I were watching him. ‘ _I'll kill ya if ya do_.’ And he was almost as good as his word. Think the only thing that stopped him was when he caught sight of the arrows.

 _‘Well now, ya little shit. Looks like you might be some use after all. Go get ya fuckin’ bruh ta clean up them cuts an’ come back an’ see me when ya healed up some. Now fuck off an’ never touch my bow again or next time I won't be so nice_.’

Barney kinda stopped protecting me after that. I didn't realise the whole reason he wanted to join the circus in the first place was cuz he thought the Robin Hood guy was cool as fuck. I suppose I should have guessed from the way he wouldn't shut up about how awesome the guy was but shit… I was eight years old and didn't know any better. Anyway I got patched up by Rosa who read cards and more or less looked after me from that point on, started as Trickshot's apprentice and after a few years of training became Hawkeye, The World’s Greatest Marksman famous throughout the Mid-West and beyond.”

Clint gives that sad little laugh again before he registers that Phil's stopped stroking his hand and his body's gone tense beneath him. He shifts a little so that he can look up at the other man. He doesn't recognise the expression on Phil's face but he knows it's something he never wants directed at him.

“Hey… what's wrong? Phil, talk to me.”

“Come up here.” There's no doubt it's not a request, it's a command but Phil's voice is rough and emotional which takes the edge off it. Clint doesn't hesitate, moving position so that he's lying on Phil's chest and they're facing each other. The ex-Army Ranger's eyes speak volumes and Clint knows without doubt this man will never physically hurt him or allow him to be hurt.

Phil raises his head and kisses him, his lips soft and warm. It's not a kiss full of passion that gets the photographer excited; it's a kiss that makes him feel safe… wanted… loved. As do the strong arms that are wrapped around him holding him close.

When the kiss ends, Clint cuddles down nuzzling into the crook of Phil's neck. He sighs happily as the other man's fingers gently run through his hair and stroke his neck soothing away the tension that had built up as he recounted his time as a foster/circus kid.

For a while neither of them speak content in each other's arms and it's a long time before Clint sleepily asks something he's been curious about.

“Phil…?”

“Mmmm?”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“Why did you never gave Agent the ‘kiss okay’ command before?”

Phil stops stroking Clint’s hair for a moment. His answer, given with such honesty, makes the photographer’s heart skip a beat.

“I didn’t count on finding you.”


	6. A shovel talk... or two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sincere apologies it's taken so long to post the next chapter to The Dog Companion - I can't believe it's been nine months. 
> 
> There's another bump in the road for the boys, thanks to Natasha, but it comes out alright in the wash... (translated to angst with a happy ending).

“And he said…” Clint pauses for a moment, his expression softening with a slight smile playing on his lips as he remembers Phil’s words from a few nights earlier. Words that were softly spoken while he lay in Phil’s embrace. Then he yelps, unceremoniously pulled from his reverie by a pinch on the big toe by Natasha too impatient for him to continue.

“’I didn’t count on finding you’,” he blurts out, dropping his eyes to his coffee mug suddenly finding the contents worthy of a deep and meaningful stare. His resting face has turned back to its usual vaguely murderous state however, embarrassed at being caught ‘mooning’ over Phil, there’s also the hint of a blush across his cheeks.

Grumpily, he lifts his foot to check on his smarting toe. It had been resting on Natasha's legs, placed there for a foot rub while the two of them settled down on the couch to discuss his latest date with Phil, armed with coffee and cookies fresh from the oven.

Unlike Kate, who would most likely make a gagging gesture accompanied by gross sound effects, Natasha is more mature (slightly anyway), and her first reaction is to roll her eyes with a sigh but she holds back knowing Clint would just get up and walk out. She’s very much aware he’s become totally smitten by the ex-army Ranger and as much as he values her opinion, at this moment she could have documented proof he’s Lucifer himself and Clint would ignore it.

Clint’s recollection of his night at Phil’s house may sound ridiculously sentimental to her, even with the cockblocking that went on with Agent, which admittedly had her snorting with laughter when he recounted it, but to Clint those words spoken by Phil are almost a marriage proposal. And that’s dangerous. He dives into things head first rarely thinking about the potential consequences; relationships, ideas, rescuing a one-eyed dog (that one almost resulted in jail time but he ended up with Lucky out of it so to him, totally worth it).

But she’s getting this from only one side of the pairing. Perhaps the way Phil remembers it is slightly less… nauseating. That idea is shattered when the memory of the way he touched his forehead to Clint’s after kissing him so tenderly (and thoroughly) in the school car park at the end of their first date comes back to her. And Clint's reaction to it.

There’s no doubting that there’s something between the two men; the fact that Clint has mentioned his asshole of a father to him is proof if nothing else, but she still has an awful feeling. She can’t put her finger on it. She doesn’t want to see him hurt and this has a huge potential for disaster. She just hopes she’s wrong.

But there is one thing that’s nagging her above all else.

“He doesn’t drink? Why is that?” she asks nonchalantly, taking a sip of her coffee.

Clint shrugs and slides deeper into his side of the couch attempting to pull his feet away from Natasha’s legs. She grabs the big toe in a vice-like grip to stop him. She knows she’s made him uncomfortable with the question but this is the thing that worries her most of all. He’s getting in too deep to be able to see if this could be a potential problem.

“I dunno. Some people just don’t drink,” he eventually mumbles into his mug. “Does it really matter?”

“Maybe… if he’s like your father.”

This time she’s neither quick enough nor stupid enough to try and stop him from twisting away from her, dropping his feet onto the floor with an angry thump.

“He’s nothing like that fucker,” he snarls at her banging his mug down on the coffee table. Some of the contents make a dash for freedom at the ferocity of it, leaping over the rim to splash onto the wooden surface. He flicks his eyes to her in apology and mops it up before it stains. He would feel bad about it otherwise.

Natasha puts down her own mug gently and lays her hand on his arm.

“Forgive me, Little Bird,” she says softly. “That was wrong of me. I didn’t mean to compare them.”

He doesn’t look at her, focusing all his attention on the clean-up operation instead but he does give a single nod of acknowledgment. She lays the side of her head against his shoulder and after a couple of moments, he returns the gesture, resting his head against hers. They’ll be okay.

“I want to meet him though,” she tells him, her tone brooking no argument. He sighs in resignation. Deep down he knew it was never going to be that easy.

***

When Phil and Clint get together a few days later, it turns out Lucky’s completely besotted with Agent. To the point where Clint swears the Wirehaired Pointing Griffon is beginning to roll her eyes as the one-eyed mutt either follows her around like a lovesick puppy or lies with his head on his paws staring at her like a… well, like a lovesick puppy. Phil and he lose track of the number of times she looks up at her handler as if to say “Phil… what the hell?” She isn’t stressed or unhappy with Lucky, she just isn’t used to all the attention.

Lucky’s apparent infatuation aside, the two dogs get on well together chasing the ball, and each other, up and down the field in Prospect Park. Clint manages to get some really great photos of the pair (and of Phil looking as relaxed as he’d ever seen him – wide smile giving him deep and sexy crinkles around his eyes).

Eventually, they call it a day heading back to where Phil has parked his car and get the two tired but happy dogs settled. With Agent in her crate, and Lucky safely secured with a harness in the rear seat, they drive to [Hawkeye’s Gallery](http://www.bishoponbedford.com/) in Bed Stuy. If Phil’s nervous he’s not showing it and Clint’s glad. He doesn’t want him to be worried about meeting his friends.

“You know he nearly killed me because of you?” are Kate’s first words to Phil. She’s standing with her hands on her hips, glaring at him.

Clint sighs and facepalms, and Phil raises an eyebrow. Although his best deadpan expression is firmly locked in place, there's a hint of amusement playing around his eyes especially now. Well then, Clint figures _this_ should be interesting because he has no recollection of doing anything of the sort.

“Yup. Left me dangling on a stepladder holding a large… no, a _very_ large picture on my own while he cooed down the phone to you. It was such a _huge_ picture, hanging it was a two person job. Which apparently means it needs two people. Not one plus an empty second stepladder. But that's not what nearly killed me. Noooo! It was the overdose of sweet talk making me want to barf chunks and fall off the ladder that damn near did it.”

Oh. Well, yeah. That kinda did happen.

Clint visibly winces and Phil… well, Phil ducks his head and tilts it to look at her with his Mr Sexy-as-fuck half-smile on his face.

“Absolutely unintentional on my part, Kate,” he says with a warm voice. Clint can recognise a little mischief in it too. “But… I'm pretty sure the sweet talk wasn't one-sided. Can you imagine if he’d put me on speaker? Probably would have guaranteed a major Exorcist moment. Anyway, I hope you’ll forgive me. And... it's a pleasure to meet you.”

Kate melts (Clint can tell). Her posture remains the same if slightly less rigid but the glare waivers and suddenly she’s babbling about how gorgeous Agent is and that she knows she’s working right now but when she’s not can she pet her? Or maybe Phil can pet her for her later. Or maybe she’d like some water after her walk? She's bound to be thirsty. Maybe Phil would?

“And… well, don’t hurt him. Ever. You might not think it right now but you’d be surprised at the damage I can do,” she tells him, suddenly realising she’s supposed to be giving him the ‘shovel talk’ and not prattling on like a tongue-tied teenager.

Phil gives her an intense look that literally stops her heart for a beat, and says with utter conviction, “I can't promise not to be an idiot, Kate, but I will always try not to hurt him. And I would never harm him.”

Both Clint and Kate are surprised by his words and the unwavering strength behind them. And in truth so is Phil but he's rarely meant anything more. Clint’s not sure how to react so he goes to his default position and completely ignores it. When his brain processes it later he'll have a mild to major freak out.

It leaves Kate speechless. More or less. “Yeah… well, okay then.”

She snatches Lucky’s leash from Clint’s hand and punches him on the meat of his arm.

“Asshat!” she tells him.

He looks at her with a mock hurt expression. “What d’I do?” he whines with a pout.

Rolling her eyes in epic fashion in response, she ignores him and takes Lucky through to the back of the gallery, telling him he’s a “good boy unlike your dad... who’s an asshat”. The traitorous beast wags his tail and looks at her with heart-eyes as he bounces along beside her, his tongue lolling out of his mouth.

“I would say she’s not usually so weird but…” he gestures vaguely in a “but she is” kind of way.

“Like she has an option?” Phil responds. “Besides, as shovel talks go, it was actually very sweet.”

Clint knows he’s right about that - the shovel talk, not the other thing because… hey! Besides Natasha’s won’t be anywhere near as sugar coated. And there’s always the possibility it may even involve an actual shovel.

They spend some time with Kate who, now that she’s completed her “very sweet” shovel talk, gets on with Phil like a house on fire much to Clint’s delight and dread. This could prove problematic in the future cuz he can totally see them ganging up on him. Pizza is _not_ a food group, vegetables are _not_ all poisonous, drinking from the coffee pot is just _plain wrong_ … The reprimands may all be in his head but they both suck!

When an apparently long-standing customer comes in, Phil subtly breaks away to walk around the gallery with Agent. He views the artwork while Clint and Kate talk to the elderly man who’s obviously become more of a friend over time. Every so often Phil looks across and smiles at the easy way Clint has with the man; as he has with people in general. He’s not so jealous of it now though. He’s gradually regaining his own confidence and a large part of that is due to Clint. It's been growing over time; with the support of Hill and Fury. The VA group. He smiles down at his service dog. With Agent. But Clint is bringing out a side of him he thought he'd lost four years ago. The ability to feel something for another person.

As he meanders along, Phil discovers there are several pieces he's genuinely taken with. He doesn’t know much about photography - lighting and composition and what not - but in these ones, the subject matter appears so much more intense than he’s ever seen captured in a photo before. They’re breathtaking. Particularly this one which he's been studying for at least five minutes.

“You like this one?”

He gives the speaker a sideways glance. The woman, whose face is partially hidden by a striped hoodie, is staring straight ahead at the picture. If she hadn’t spoken he wouldn’t have known she was there. That’s quite an achievement considering Phil’s sensitivity to being watched. Either she’s near silent when she moves or he was more caught up in the photo that he realised.

“Very much. The photographer has an amazing eye,” he acknowledges with a nod.

“You don’t think it’s too… emotional or conflicted perhaps?”

Phil studies it further for a moment. “Given the subject, no. I don’t. I think it achieves exactly what the photographer intended. It does for me anyway.”

“I believe it’s the gallery owner’s work.”

“You know him?”

“I admire his work.”

“There’s a lot to admire.”

“I think so, yes. I would hate to see something of his going to a person who doesn’t appreciate it. That would be unforgivable. That would upset me.”

Phil gets the feeling it’s not the image that’s being talked about anymore. Probably hasn’t been all along when he thinks about the way the questions were phrased. Clint either has one hell of a scary stalker or...

“You must be Natasha.”

“Must I?”

The corner of Phil’s mouth tugs up in a barely there smile. He has no doubt. She may wish to appear cold and aloof but her tone of voice is fiercely protective the way she speaks of him. Well, this is a new kind of shovel talk.

“Definitely.”

She turns to him and pulls back the hoodie to reveal a shock of red hair in wavy bangs which would have removed all remaining doubt if he actually had any. Natasha gives him an appraising look with a raised eyebrow. She looks unimpressed.

“Then presumably that would make you Phil.”

“What gave me away? My boyish charm and good looks? Or my very pretty service dog?”

Apparently even less impressed, she returns her gaze to the photograph. “Ah. Now I know what he sees in you.”

“Pretty sure it’s the boyish charm and good looks.” He tips his head to the side expectantly, waiting for her to elaborate. After a moment she does.

“Your awful sense of humour.”

“Huh! That could be it,” he agrees amiably after a thoughtful pause.

He’d like to make a good impression on her however she’s not making it easy for him. He supposes that’s the point of a shovel talk. He has no proof but he’s fairly sure that Nick and Maria once “disappeared” someone he was seeing because they didn’t like him. In hindsight, he was kind of a tool but still. Rude.

Although he’s been trying to keep the banter light, he can sense something lurking just below the surface of Natalia Romanova and it’s beginning to set off his internal alarms. He knows she’s Clint’s best friend so it’s probably nothing but over the years he’s learned not to ignore his instincts. The good thing is that he doesn't want to run from the feeling. He wants to tackle it head on.

“When do you intend to tell him?” she asks him, her tone just a shade too casual.

“Tell him?” Phil’s brow creases into a frown. Despite himself, he feels a chill at her words. He's not sure what she's talking about. He's been pretty open with Clint since the night at Banner’s restaurant. There's really only one thing he's avoided talking about for now… and his stomach lurches.

As she speaks, Natasha’s gaze remains on the photo that’s been the object of their attention.

“It could be my upbringing I suppose or things I’ve found out in life the hard way but I tend to find if something seems too good to be true, that's generally the case.”

Now she turns her eyes to Phil and gives him an icy glare.

“And from what I've heard you seem too good to be true, Phil. That means there’s something you’re holding back.”

He gives her his own measured look. He tries to keep his face as inscrutable as possible but he can feel the muscles in his jaw clench. He’s not fighting a panic attack but he is angry at her implication. But he’s angrier that she’s right.

Agent senses the change in her handler and, as she did with Clint outside This Guy’s Restaurant, moves into position between Phil and Natasha to sit in front of Phil watching for signs of distress.

“You are Clint’s friend, Ms Romanova. I will allow you that as I know you are merely being protective of him. But anything personal I have to say to him will remain exactly that until he chooses to reveal it otherwise.”

Phil’s Russian isn’t flawless but it’s perfectly understandable to her. It’s been a number of years since he conversed in it - and he's not entirely sure why he's doing so now except perhaps to make Natasha aware she doesn't know everything about him.

Surprised, she opens her mouth to speak but Phil holds up his hand, his forefinger raised in the universal gesture for silence. Natasha can’t help but be taken aback for a brief moment, nevertheless, she graciously allows him to continue without snapping his finger in several places. In some perverse way, she admires the fact he’s had the balls to do it. She's also pleased to note that although he’s annoyed, he’s remained calm throughout.

“Whatever you may think of me, I care deeply for him. Perhaps you and Kate can compare notes later but for now, if you wish to know more about me I would ask that we talk in the coffee shop as Clint arranged. As I’m sure is true of you, I do not wish to see him hurt.”

“That's exactly what will happen if you don't tell him whatever it is you're hiding.”

“I'm not hide anything,” but even as he says it, he wonders if that's quite true.

“What’s Natasha doing here?” Kate hisses in Clint’s hearing ear, slapping his arm nonstop in the most annoying way possible. A Katie-gnat.

“Quit it, girlie-girl,” Clint frowns at her catching her hand in his. He looks to where Kate is staring and his eyes open as wide as hers. This was not the plan. The plan was simple. Walk, gallery, Katie-Kate. [Coffee house](http://stonefruitespresso.com/about/), Tasha, home. Right now she should be nowhere near this place. There was a reason he organised things the way he had. But of course Natasha would completely ignore him. Shit! Fuck! Balls! She was going to be the death of him.

“OMG! did he… did he just raise his finger to tell her to be quiet?” Kate is halfway between awe and incredulity at Phil’s bravery… and stupidity.

Clint watches in horrified fascination. He did. He used the ‘Finger of Silence’. Clint has seen Tasha make grown men cry for less. He has to go over there and stop whatever’s going on. As he heads in their direction deftly avoiding the customer who’s intercepted by Kate, Natasha gracefully slips away to the rear of the gallery and makes her getaway.

Giving him plenty of space, Clint stands opposite Phil. “Hey. What was that about?”

“I think Natasha just wanted to have a quiet chat before we met at the coffee shop.”

Clint’s face clouds over. “That’s not…”

“It’s fine, Clint,” Phil tells him gently. “She doesn’t know me. And she obviously cares about you.” He gives Clint a small smile and adds. “She’s as fierce as you described her.”

“Shit, Phil. I’m sorry.”

“You shouldn’t be sorry for having someone like her, or Kate, in your life. Except, Natasha’s shovel talk… not so sweet.”

He knows Phil’s trying to make a joke of it but he’s pissed at Tasha. He can handle himself for shit sake. And he doesn’t want her to upset Phil either. No matter her intentions, as far as he’s concerned she’s crossed a line. He’s pulled from his thoughts by Phil’s hand on his forearm.

“Why don’t you put your mind at rest and go see her in the coffee shop. I’m fine. She’s fine. But I want you to be too. I’ll find the place. Or maybe Kate could take me along.”

Probably a good idea. Clint has a few things he’s like to say to Natasha and he doesn’t want them said in front of Phil.

“You still want to go?” he asks with a touch of uncertainty in his voice.

For the second time, a frown passes over Phil’s face. “Of course. Why wouldn’t I?”

“You’re a glutton for punishment, Phil Coulson. C’n I…?” He turns his palm up and holds his hand out. Phil understands he wants to touch him and gladly nods his permission. Clint gently places his palm against Phil’s jaw and rests his forehead against Phil’s.

“Seeya in a few?”

“Yup. Now go... asshat.”

***

Clint and Natasha are in a booth when Phil and Kate arrived. The atmosphere is heavily charged and Kate decides not to hang around. She claims it’s because she has to get back to the gallery and Lucky but in reality, she doesn’t want to be hit by any of the debris from the trainwreck that looks like it’s about to happen.

Phil thanks her for bringing him and hesitantly she touches her fingertips to his arm, giving him an encouraging smile. Fuck knows, she loves Natasha but if she screws the pooch on this thing between Clint and Phil, she’ll be really pissed. She’s never seen Clint so happy and Phil seems like a genuinely nice guy.

Not today perhaps, she knows how to pick battles she can win and this isn’t one of them, but she’s willing to take on the most terrifying person she knows on this earth (and that includes her old man who’s a serious asshole) to make sure her mentor stays happy.

Surprisingly, Phil doesn’t flinch from her touch. He gives her a brief smile and watches her leave before heading to the booth.

To Clint’s exasperation, Natasha stands up from the table as he joins them. He knows she's leaving and he’s not best pleased about it.

“Well, Phil. I am glad we had our chat,” she says to him in Russian. “I look forward to seeing you again but for now, perhaps you have something to discuss with my little brother. Tell him or not, it's up to you. I will trust you to do the right thing.”

Phil realises she's given him a choice by speaking in her native tongue as its obvious Clint doesn’t understand her. The way she worded it, however… not much of a choice. Phil’s resentful she's put him in this position. He was always going to tell Clint about his drinking. But when the time was right. That thought brings him up short. Isn't that something people with secrets say when they're caught? I'm sorry, it just never seemed like the right time.

Clint’s eyes dart between the two of them. He had no idea Phil spoke Russian just as he has no idea what’s going on between the two of them.

Ignoring Clint’s mutters of protest, Natasha switches back to English. “Little Bird, I love you and I'll see you tomorrow.”

Feeling bad about it but knowing he won’t make a scene in public, she walks away. She’ll accept whatever anger he has for her tomorrow. Or comfort him tonight if she has to.

Clint slouches back into the booth. “Fuck my life. I love Tasha but she's a pain in the ass. So what’s with the Russian? And seriously, what’s going on with you two?”

Phil shrugs and says, “A benefit of being in the Army.”

The humour that was in his voice earlier has gone as has the confident Phil Clint saw back at the gallery, replaced by a far darker version, and it’s obvious Natasha’s had something to do with it. It devastates him. He didn’t for one moment think the two of them wouldn’t get along. And god help him, he doesn't know what to do about it.

“As for what's going on…” Phil takes a deep breath and lets it go slowly then begins to talk.

“I used to but... I don't drink nowadays,” he says softly. “I… let it control me for a while. At the worst point, I managed to give myself a broken right hand when I punched a hole in the wall of the lobby. Not smart. Especially for a one-handed guy.”

He shrugs and gives Clint a small smile. It’s not returned. Now knowing about Clint’s father, his reaction is completely understandable. It’s not an easy illness to live with for anyone who’s affected by it. It can have devastating consequences for everyone involved some of which are unforgivable. And after the other night, he knows Clint is only too well aware of that. Hesitantly, he continues.

“I… never had it fixed to remind me. Works pretty well most of the time. But… now and again I need to talk to someone. Someone who’s been there. And that helps. A lot.”

Phil's voice remains quiet as he talks. The violence is a period in his life he's not proud of and he’s worked hard to get through it. Once again his support network has been amazing. It would have been impossible without it. His life as it is now would have been impossible without it. Certainly without Hill and Fury.

Clint feels a chill as he processes what Phil is telling him. He’s an alcoholic. Part of him, the part that grew up with an abusive, alcoholic shit of a father is screaming at him Natasha’s right - he has to cut and run. Now. Before he falls any deeper for this man.

But Phil Coulson is not his father. He knows that. He’s a good man. An honest man. Nor is he a waster or a loser. Phil at some point (the wall incident most likely) has admitted he has a problem and sought treatment for it. And won another battle by all accounts.

But Clint’s just not sure he’s strong enough. On top of everything else, he’s not sure if he’s strong enough to handle this as well. It wrecked his life when he was a kid. He has no desire to be shattered by it as an adult.

Phil says nothing. He’s desperate to - the silence is killing him - but he won't. He'll wait until Clint's ready. He hopes he’s not dredged up any old memories that are causing Clint pain. He knows it's a false hope; Clint’s bound to be thinking of his father.

He also prays he’s not put this thing between them in jeopardy yet again. Her strong-arm tactics aside, Natasha was right; Clint does need to know. He could have told him he doesn’t drink because of his meds, and that would have been true. But it would only have been half true. Clint deserves more than half truths. No matter what it might do.

Clint finally pulls himself from the daze he’s found himself in. He looks at the ex-Army Ranger and says in a hushed tone, “You could have told me the other night.”

“No. I couldn’t.”

“Not the right time, huh?” Heavy with bitterness, there’s more than a hint of anger and hurt in Clint’s voice. In his face.

Phil winces. He deserved that he supposes. He leans back into the seat and pets Agent’s ear. Although she has no clue as to what’s going on, she nudges him with her chin as if to encourage him to continue talking.

“It would have been the worst time to talk to you about it,” he says, quietly. “You’d just told me something very personal about your life, Clint. I wasn’t going to make some sort of competition out of that.”

Clint stares at him. He knows how he felt in Phil’s arms after telling him about his childhood. About his father being a drunk. He’d felt warm. And secure. And cared for. He also thinks about the expression on Phil’s face after he’d told him about the abuse he’d suffered at Trickshot’s fists. It had made him uneasy at the time but also… protected. Jesus, he was fucked up!

He remembers the hole in the wall that Phil’s talking about. He remembers it because it was incongruous in an otherwise immaculately restored house. That had been Phil’s fist. Because of a drink-fuelled rage. What if Phil lost control like that again and lashed out at him. He can't go through that another time.

“Did you ever hurt anyone? When you were drunk. Did you ever hurt anyone?”

Phil looks horrified. “No! _God_ no!”

Clint continues to stare at him for a time then finally nods. He believes him. There’s no hesitation and too much pain in his eyes at the suggestion for him to be lying. He has a decision to make now; cut and run or accept and stay. As he looks at Phil’s face and thinks about his life before and since they’ve been involved, he’s knows he’s made up his mind no matter how painful it turns out to be.

“I remember saying something to you when you were going to walk away from me at Bruce's. _So that’s it then. One mistake and you take off?_ You stayed and we talked and it helped us both. It would be a kinda shit move for me to do that now, wouldn’t it? To walk away. But you’re shutting me out, Phil. You agreed you’d talk to me… and you didn’t.”

Suddenly overwhelmed, he reaches for the back of his neck and rubs it. “Fuck! I need to get out of here.”

He pushes himself away from the table and looks down at Phil whose stomach lurches and rolls. At least until Clint holds his hand out to him.

“You coming?”

Phil closes his eyes trying to fight back the tears. He had no idea how much he wanted, _needed_ Clint to accept this part of him. He draws in a long, shaky breath and looks up at him.

“Yeah. Sounds good.”

***  
Natasha pulls her hoodie up and slips away with a tiny smile playing on her lips. She's been watching from the window ready to go to Clint if he needed her. She doesn't know for sure what Phil's told him but she can guess and she respects the ex-army Ranger for taking the leap. It's obviously been painful for both of them but Clint’s accepted it. That's enough for her for now.

When Phil gets home that evening he finds the picture from the gallery waiting for him. There's no note but it's obvious who it's from. He smiles. Knowing she's watching he turns to face the sidewalk and nods to signal his acceptance of gesture. Natasha walks away with her own satisfied grin. She’s now fully on Team Phlint and will fight tooth and nail to ensure neither of them nor anyone else fucks it up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed the update. All being well, I should hopefully post another chapter this weekend. A bit more angst I'm afraid but there is light ahead for the boys in the final two chapters. Yeah, only two more to go. Thanks for reading ~ Lola


	7. His torn and broken body

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING for a vivid flashback episode with Phil. Agent is there and she does bring him out of it but not immediately. Please also heed the title of the chapter.

Clint storms into her apartment, a man on a mission. “The fuck were you thinking, Tasha?”

Closing the door behind him, Natasha takes a deep breath and follows him through to the lounge. She knew Clint would be pissed at her but she hadn’t expected the ferocity of his anger. She’s never seen him like this and she’s seen him rant and sob and break down plenty times over the years.

“I was…”

“Don’t you dare. Don’t you _dare_ say you were doing it to protect me,” he spits at her. She flinches but doesn’t try to stop him.

“He’s _not_ my father. I _told_ you that. That shit excuse for a human being never made me feel safe a day in his entire miserable fucking life. Jesus, you didn’t even give Phil a chance. You assumed there must be some sinister reason behind him not drinking. That he’s a fuck-up like my old man was. Phil’s the complete opposite from that prick. I’ve never felt safer than when I'm with him. You had no right to compare them; you said as much yourself. But you didn’t trust me enough to take my word for it. That fucking hurts, Tasha. I can't even tell you how much.”  

Natasha stares at him wide-eyed. She completely underestimated the extent of his feelings for Phil and now… now she’s paying for it. Dearly. And that's not all she's paying for.

“And you went behind my back. You asked to meet him and I set it up at the coffee shop but you did your own thing anyway. Why would you do that? Just to prove a point? You pushed him, Tasha. You pushed him into telling me something he wasn’t ready to tell. That wasn’t your call. It wasn’t mine. It was Phil’s. Have you any fucking idea what you could have done? Shit, you were here with me when Sam sat in that chair and talked to me about building a relationship with someone with PTSD. You could have triggered an event.”

No matter how good her reasons or how well-meant her intentions, this time she was wrong. So very wrong. Clint has every right to be furious with her. She had indeed been here when Sam had taken Clint through how to try and have a relationship with someone suffering from PTSD. And she’s broken pretty much every rule he set. Not only that, she’s hurt her best friend by not respecting his decisions and his boundaries. Perhaps irrevocably.

“You pushed me too, Tasha. I wasn't ready for the conversation he and I had today. You think I didn't wonder? You think it wasn't in the back of my mind? I hoped he would tell me if he had a problem; that he'd open up to me about it on his own. I guess now I'll never know. But today I just wanted my friends to meet the guy I'm falling for. _Have_ fallen for. And for him to meet the people I'm closest to. To meet my family. And maybe even for him to become _part_ of that family. Instead, he gets two shovel talks and a shit load of bitterness from me.” 

Clint's body sags, his anger finally spent. He pushes his hands into his pockets and looks at her. It’s been a long time since he’s looked so broken and she’s horrified she’s the cause. She's done the very thing she was trying so hard to protect him from and she has no idea how to fix it. Right now the best thing she can do is stay silent and let Clint talk.

“I know why you did it but I need a friend in you, Tasha. I need you to be here for me same as I’m here for you. I don’t need you to be some self-appointed saviour protecting me from myself. I’m a grown man and I fuck up sometimes. I dive into things head first. I know all that. But I didn’t this time. I thought about it so much. I’ve been trying so hard to make it work between Phil and me. We both have. And... you nearly destroyed that.

You’ve always had my back, Tasha, and I love you but don’t call me. Don’t try to contact me. Not until I’m ready.”

He drops his gaze from her and turns towards the door. As she goes to follow him, he shakes his head.

“I’ll see myself out.”

 

***

 

It’s three full days before Clint’s ringtone sounds from Natasha’s cell phone. It’s been the worst three days of her life, and she’s a surprising number of days like that. Apart from Clint being on assignment, it’s also the longest she’s gone without speaking to him or at the very least texting him.

She’s missed hearing his voice; having him draped over her couch like an untidy throw squeaking that damned ball. She’s missed him popping round unexpectedly, stealing her cookies, drinking her coffee, and stroking her hair. To not have him in her life would be unbearable, so she’s done everything he asked of her. She’s not called or visited him. She’s only spoken to Kate to find out how he is and if Phil’s okay, which thankfully he is. So when her cell rings her heart races and she grabs accepting the call without hesitation.

“Hi, Matryoshka,” he says softly. She almost sobs aloud. It’s the name he calls her when he’s being annoying and wants to piss her off. It’s him telling her they’re going to be okay.

“Hey, Cow Chip,” she replies. It’s her version of Matryoshka for him. He hates it. He gives a strangled laugh.

“Missed you.”

“Me too. You been eating okay?”

“Store bought cookies aren’t the same. They’re kinda shit actually.”

“I know. And my students are getting fat and lazy on mine.”

There’s a pause while they try to get back on an even keel again. It might take a while but they’ll get there.

“Phil told me you sent him a picture of mine from the gallery.”

“Did I now?”

“Shut up! He asked me to tell you thanks and to ask if you would like to see how it looks in his home instead of on the wall in the gallery.”

He was asking her to his home. Natasha's completely taken aback by the gesture. He's a bigger person than she. She would be full of resentment if someone had treated her with such disrespect and caused so much pain. But as Clint pointed out three nights ago… she doesn’t know Phil at all. And she would very much like the opportunity to change that. Something it appears he’s still willing to give her.

“Tell him… tell him I will make a batch of cookies to bring along. And Clint…?”

“Uh-huh?“

“I am so very sorry. To you both.”

***

 

It’s been almost eight weeks since their first date (twelve since they originally met in Prospect Park) and when Clint’s not away on assignment, the pair makes sure they get together at least a couple of times a week for a home-cooked meal. Well, home-cooked when they're at Phil’s… more often than not, take away when they're at Clint's. At least, it used to be. It’s not that Clint _can’t_ cook; in fact, he’s a pretty damn _good_ cook when he puts his mind to it. It’s more that he can’t be bothered what with take away being so damned easy and all. However, he’s beginning to come round to the niceties of making a meal from scratch especially if it gives him extra time in the kitchen with Phil.

Thinking about it, watching the older man in the kitchen is actually one of Clint’s favourite activities. It’s kinda sexy seeing him with that look of concentration on his face, brow furrowed and the tip of his tongue peeking out from between his lips as he finely chops onions or garlic or whatever; or standing next to him inhaling his scent as they work together to prepare a meal; or feeling the heat from his body as he leans in to steal a piece of food with a mischievous grin. Yeah, he’s really getting into this home-cooking thing. Maybe not for the right reasons but still.

Tonight’s been another chilled evening at Clint's apartment; just relaxing and talking, making dinner (they’d shopped for the ingredients for lasagna earlier which of course means finely chopped onions, garlic, and mushrooms which in turn means some NC18-rated ‘Cooking with Coulson’...awesome!) and eating their meal while watching Dog Cops. Both men are hooked on the show and view it with child-like enjoyment.

While occasionally loose with his own diet, Phil’s pretty strict with Agent’s and always brings a portion of her kibble with him. It takes a lot of self-control from Clint to stop him from passing her a tidbit or several during the evening. He knows she doesn’t get fed human food - Phil explained this was non-negotiable - and he respects that decision. He thinks back to when he had Lucky and the reason he was called ‘Pizza Dog’. It’s probably a good thing that Katie Kate has him now and by all accounts, he’s happy that she does. She has a lot more sense when it comes to treating a dog like a dog and not a BFF - she spoils him in other ways. But he really misses him sometimes all the same.

After a damn fine dinner (even with all the salad shit Phil made Clint eat), they take Agent for a stroll around Clint’s neighbourhood. It’s a reasonable distance which they take at an easy pace, and good for walking off the pasta carbs.

Tonight only one person approaches them to say hi to Agent. It’s still attention that Phil doesn’t want but at least the guy talks to _him_ and asks if he can pet her before trying to do so. Unlike a lot of people. It surprises Clint how often people ignore the ‘Service Dog. Please Do Not Pet’ patch on Agent’s vest.

The guy also accepts when Phil patiently explains she’s a service dog and she’s currently working so he’d rather he didn’t - it can actually be dangerous for him if she’s distracted. The guy looks a bit stunned and apologises. He just likes dogs and had no idea.

So many people are offended when Phil tells them no and don't bother to listen to his explanation. They don’t seem to realise, or care sometimes, how important it is for the handler that their service dog is not approached while they’re on duty; it takes the dog's attention away from them which means an important sign could be missed resulting in an event being triggered instead of averted. But thankfully there are others, like this guy, who appreciate what Phil has to tell them and that he takes the time to do it.

When they get back to the apartment, Phil seems subdued. Clint can’t put his finger on why. He doesn’t think it was anything to do with the guy they met; they've certainly had much worse encounters. And it was a nice evening - not too hot, not too cold - kids were laughing and screaming at each other in the street, although one of them did have a screech that went right through you. But that’s kids for you; can’t live with ‘em, can’t ship ‘em off to a desert island until they’re eighteen… right?

Clint’s more than a little concerned about the quietness that's come over Phil, and also with the way he seems to be more… _on alert_ is how it can be best described. Eyes constantly flitting around the room, body reacting to any sudden noise or movement, a tension that seems to radiate from him. Plus his temperature has gone up - even after this short a time, Clint knows that’s not a great sign.

The other thing that suddenly dawns on him is that Phil hasn’t given Agent her ‘off duty’ command like he usually does. He must realise something’s not right himself. When they settle down on the couch deciding to watch one of the Marvel movies that pop up on Clint's scheduler, she sits pressed against his leg her head on his knee as he absently scratches behind her ear. Clint has seen it before; it’s a coping mechanism that usually works well to calm him.

They often watch TV with hands touching, Phil’s fingertips or thumb gently stroking Clint’s skin. Several awesome times, Clint has been stretched out on the couch with his head on Phil's lap as he gently runs his fingers through his short, spiky hair. It's only with an incredible amount of willpower Clint doesn't whimper or moan out loud when Phil's nails occasionally drag over the soft skin of his neck. His touch alone is almost enough to make him do that as it is.

There have even been a few occasions (thankfully now that Agent has accepted her new ‘kiss okay’ command and no longer tries to cock block them) where they've abandoned watching the TV altogether and made out like a couple of teenagers. Fuck! Those had been incredible (but frustrating) nights and Clint jerked off as soon as Phil left or as soon as he got home depending on whose place they were at.

But not tonight. Clint’s been around Phil long enough now to know when he doesn't want any physical contact and while it's not awkward, it's not as relaxed as it was earlier. Something definitely happened during the walk and he desperately racks his brain to recall what it might have been. He vaguely remembers a tapping sound as Phil's fingers beat against his leg when they passed by the kids and now that he thinks about it, it was accompanied by a quiet mumbling. It's not something he's noticed before and it didn't last long but it was definitely there.

About halfway through the movie, a still restless Phil apologises and announces he needs to get home.

Clint can hear the tiredness, the strain in his voice. Understanding, and perhaps a little surprised it's taken this long, he nods and says, “Sure.”

On the spur of the moment, he adds, “Or... you could stay over. If you want to.”

Phil ducks his head and manages to give Clint a slightly weaker version of that gorgeous little half-smile of his. Although he’s touched by his request, he shakes his head and pushes himself off the couch trying not to wince at the pain in his hip and leg.

“Didn’t mean to stay this long. I must have kept you away from things you’d rather be doing.”

Clint rolls his eyes receiving another small smile from the ex-Army Ranger. He knows there’s nothing he’d rather be doing and no-one he’d rather be doing it with than the man beside him. It suddenly strikes him, even after a few months, how in love with Phil Coulson he is.

Clint’s well aware he shouldn’t push. He wouldn't normally, but he would genuinely like for Phil and Agent to spend the night even if it’s in separate rooms. The sudden thought of the three of them having a lazy breakfast together in the morning is too much for him to ignore. He gets up from the couch and stands beside Phil to nudge his shoulder with his own.

“Stay. Please.” To break the tension that seems to be building, he jokes, “Don't get any ideas, Coulson, I’m not asking you to act out any wild fantasies I might have. Not this time. Besides, I've got a guest room that’s already made up.”

Clint’s never made any demands, never asked anything of Phil other than his time when he’s willing to share it (and for Phil that’s whenever Clint wants it). He's never made him feel weak or inadequate because of his injuries or given him ultimatums about sex. In fact, he doesn’t often initiate physical contact, usually allowing _him_ to do that. Phil’s not sure if it's because Clint's happy with the occasional touches or kisses for now, or if he just isn’t interested in taking things any further, even with all the smutty innuendos. He simply doesn’t realise Clint’s giving him space. Waiting for him to make the first move when he’s ready to do so. No-one’s ever done that for him before and it doesn’t occur to him that's what's happening now. Apparently, their communication skills still need a little more work.

But whatever his reasons it doesn’t matter to Phil. He loves Clint, unequivocally, and is happy just to spend time with him, however he's comfortable with it. And if it never progresses beyond where they are now, that's fine too. It may only have been a couple of months but Phil knows there will never be anyone else; Clint is it for him. The special someone.

But he also knows tonight he needs to be at home. He’s out of sorts and he doesn’t want their first time spending the night together to be when he’s like this. He can feel a thick blanket of fog beginning to fall over him and he doesn’t want Clint to become touched by it. He also doesn’t want to ruin the evening for either of them.

“I’d love to, Clint,” the older man tells him, his voice soft but the tension in his face betrays the reality.

Clint drops his head forward and reaches for the back of his neck in that self-conscious way he does when he’s uncertain about something. He tilts his head to look at Phil. He can’t stop the concern from showing in either his eyes or his voice. “But…there’s something wrong, isn’t there?”

Phil studies the photographer for a few moments. Only Agent is better at sensing when he’s battling pain or PTSD but Clint’s right up there with Hill and Fury. He’s amazed at how quickly Clint’s come to recognise the signs and sorry he’s had to learn to look for them. Not for the first time he wishes things could be different.

Regretfully, he nods. “Yeah.”

Phil turns his body to Clint and reaches his hand to his face, sliding the tips of his fingers along Clint’s jaw to the back of his neck. Gently he draws the younger man towards him and leans into him to rest his forehead against Clint’s.

A strange mix of happy and sad at the touch but taking it as a good sign, Clint carefully places his hands on Phil’s hips and tells him, “I’m going to ask again another night.”

Phil smiles, “I kinda hope you will.”

“Just kinda?”

“Pushing it.”

Clint grins. “Always.”

They stand like that for a few moments. It's a symbiotic relationship each giving and receiving what they need from the other; Phil getting strength from Clint's touch, Clint getting comfort from Phil's.

Eventually they break apart and surprisingly, it's Clint who moves first.

“C'mon, I'll call you a cab and I'll wait downstairs with you.”

“You don't need…”

Clint cuts him off. “I want to.”

Phil looks at him with a gaze so intense Clint can feel the heat rise in his face. He can say so much with his eyes, put so many feelings into a look. Clint feels a wave of love wash over him for the ex-Army Ranger.

Phil has no idea why Clint stays with him. He's so patient with all his shit. He could have anyone; someone without flaws, someone whole. But here he is with this mess of a man. Phil's chest tightens not with pain but love.

Clint puts in a call to Howling Commandos Cabs, the company that Phil uses, and has a quick but filthy chat with Darcy. Clint doesn't blush easily (unless he's thinking impure thoughts about Phil) but that woman just has a knack. In the meantime, Phil gathers his and Agent's things, putting them in his rucksack. He's signed her 'stay’ commands and she sits patiently to the side until he's finished then he puts on her vest and his jacket. They're ready to go.

“Five minutes,” Clint tells him. “Apparently ‘ _Dugan_ ’s nearby so Bucky'll head here next. You all set?”

Phil nods and gives him a small smile. “I'm…”

“The next word out of your mouth better not be sorry or no goodnight kisses for you,” Clint tells him trying to keep it light.

Phil ducks his head once again and looks up at him, his smile a touch wider. He's responding to humour and Clint is happy about that. Once he gets home and settled he should be okay.

Carefully, Clint steps a little closer and waits for an invite. It's immediately granted and he touches his lips to Phil's. It's not a heavy make out session like they usually have before they leave each other. This is more a gesture to comfort, to feel safe… to feel loved.

***

Mrs Ramirez is leaving her flat at the same time as the two men with her little granddaughter who is screaming loud and shrill enough to wake the dead. Jesus! She's like a fucking whistling kettle at full steam.

“Car ride?” Clint shouts across to her. She nods and tries to give him a brave smile failing miserably. Yeah, must be a nightmare having a kid that won't settle. The only thing that seems to work with her is going for a ride in the car.

Clint's neighbour looks past him to nod at Phil, her expression becoming concerned. “Clint?” she says with a distinctly worried tone to her voice.

He turns to look at Phil and what he sees makes his heart miss a beat then race in his chest.

Phil's almost doubled over, right hand clutching the top of his prosthetic where it meets the flesh of his arm. His face has changed from tired to agitated and full of fear. His pallor has turned ashen and his skin looks clammy with beads of sweat gathering along his forehead.

With dread, Clint realises the child screaming has triggered an event, and he has no idea what to do. He can only watch in horror, totally helpless as Phil backs away from him and crashes into the opposite wall, his face a mask of complete and utter anguish.

His breathing is coming in short, painful gasps. His eyes are wide open witnessing something that Clint will never see. His body shakes and jerks as the flashback overwhelms his system. He slides down the wall to the floor pulling one knee up to his chest. The other leg is stretched out in front of him. His shirt, already soaked through with sweat, has left a smear down the wall; dark against the paintwork, like blood from a wound.

On the surface what was an everyday sound, a crying child, has thrown Phil’s mind into turmoil and his thought process has gone haywire. Suddenly he’s back in Kandahar reliving the trauma in a terrifying flashback...

 _...rearguard to his squad_  
_the heat_  
_the sweat_  
_the dust_  
_the neverending dryness of his mouth_  
_the sounds_  
_the smells_  
_the awareness_  
_...the first IED blast_  
_blinding flash_  
_concussive effects_  
_ground shuddering beneath his feet_  
_ringing ears and_  
_disorientation_  
_...smoke and dirt rising into the air in great engulfing clouds_  
_the burst of flame amongst the debris raining down_  
_the broken bodies_ _torn by shrapnel_  
_the blood; the sight of it, the cloying stench of it, the tackiness of it_  
_the screaming and yelling, muffled by the noise-wave_  
_the terrified shrieks from someone pitched to go right through you_  
_...taking cover_  
_swallowing panic_  
_assessing damage_  
_protecting his men; the living, the dying - and the dead_  
_giving commands_  
_leading the way_  
_...the second IED blast_  
_searing agony_  
_his head_  
_his chest_  
_his arm, no..._  
_his stump - there's a stump where his hand used to be… a stump_  
_searing agony_  
_his hip_  
_his thigh_  
_his own torn and broken body_  
_blackness…_  
_...pain, so much pain until he can no longer feel it_  
_blackness..._  
_...raised voices, bright lights overhead, erratic beep of machines_  
_blackness…_  
_...terrifying hands, touching him, pressing down, gripping tight_  
_blackness..._  
_…the whine of an electrical charge then a surge of pain in his chest - once, twice, three times_  
_blackness..._

Agent has long since placed herself between Clint and Phil, protecting and assisting her handler by pawing him, nudging him, licking his hands and face trying to distract him from the event he’s going through. And slowly it begins to work. Eventually, with a trembling hand, he reaches up burying his fingers in her wiry coat - his eyes beginning to focus again. She pushes her face against his and whines.

“It's okay, baby,” he murmurs into her fur as he wraps his left arm round her neck pulling her close. His voice is hoarse and his throat feels raw. He's been screaming.

After a while he becomes aware of his surroundings and he's finally able to sign 'I'm okay’ to Agent. He looks past her to see Clint sitting on the floor nearby. He blinks in confusion before recognising the photographer.

“Hi,” he says feebly.

“Hey,” whispers Clint. His face is still pale after witnessing Phil's flashback but now that he seems to be stabilising, colour starts to come back into his cheeks.

“I'm so sorry,” Phil tells him. He looked tired before but now he looks exhausted. Drained.

Clint shakes his head. “Don’t,” he admonishes gently. “Don't ever apologise for that.”

Phil nods appreciating Clint's words and gives him a weak smile. “Was it bad?”

“Scary as fuck,” he replies honestly after a moment. It’s fairly obvious Phil remembers very little of it but aside from the wild eyes and screams the most frightening part to Clint was towards the end when Phil kept begging to be allowed to die. Clint closed his eyes at the memory of the words he was certain would haunt him for the rest of his life; “ _Let me die, please! Please! Let me die! Please! Let me die!_ "

Whatever had happened to him, or perhaps whatever they had done to bring him back must have been horrifying.

“Yeah.” Phil drops his head forward.

“Can I do anything?” Clint asks after a moment.

Phil hesitates. “Some water’d be good.”

Clint gives himself a mental facepalm. He reaches to his side and picks up the bottles that Mr Ramirez brought when Phil was out of it. The Ramirez’ daughter had been in the military before she... well, anyway Mrs Ramirez probably recognised the signs of a flashback and told her husband when she disappeared back inside. He hands one to Phil who smiles gratefully before cracking open the lid and downing most of it in a few long swallows.

“And maybe a shower?” Phil adds when he's finished drinking. He knows his shirt is soaked, his jeans too and everything in between but a shower will go a long way to helping him feel more stable again. He can think about his clothes later. His hair is plastered to his head and he wipes the sweat from his brow with his forearm. It feels like a tonne weight. He's so fucking tired.

“Of course.” Clint doesn't move however. He remains seated and waits with Phil until he's ready to get up. Like Agent, he's watching over him ready to be there if he needs anything. They don't really talk again and it's several minutes before Phil's able to move accepting some assistance from Clint.

 

***

 

“I'm going to leave the door open in case you need anything. Is that okay?”

Keeping his head bowed, Phil nods.

“I'll be back in a minute with fresh towels and some clothes.”

Phil nods again but still doesn't make eye contact.

When Clint returns, Phil has stripped and is standing naked before him. It takes every bit of control he has not to make a sound when he sees the scars covering Phil's body. There's a massive one that splits in two and runs through his chest hair from maybe halfway down his sternum to a few inches above his navel. Fuck knows what happened there but it must have been awful and painful. “ _Let me die, please! Please! Let me die!_ ” runs through his head again. There's a network of them running up his thigh, over his hip to the first few of his lower ribs. A few are thick and wide like skin grafts; most look like jagged shrapnel tears. He's also removed his prosthetic leaving his stump bare.

Phil knows Clint is outside the door but makes no effort to cover himself. Every injury he's ever experienced is on display for Clint to see. He finally looks the photographer in the eye his arms spread apart, hiding nothing.

“This is it, Clint. This is what you get. This is me… Phil Coulson… the Dog Soldier.” Phil's voice breaks on the last word.

Clint drops the pile of towels and clothing on the floor and rushes to him wrapping his arms around his shoulders feeling them shake under his touch. Phil tenses but doesn't pull away. Clint holds on until Phil collapses against him his weight dragging them both to the floor as he releases huge gut wrenching sobs that wrack his body.

Clint’s tears are silent but they fall along with Phil's. He's opened himself up, laid himself bare to Clint - figuratively and literally - and it leaves the two men shattered and raw.

**Author's Note:**

> This is the third installment of the 'Dogs are our link to paradise' series with thedogblogger (Clint), The Dog Soldier (Phil) and The Dog Companion (Agent).
> 
> I hope you enjoy The Dog Companion and if you did please feel free to let me know with comments and/or kudos; trust me, they keep me going and often brighten my day. Thank you to everyone who kindly left comments and kudos on thedogblogger and The Dog Soldier...you truly provide inspiration. 
> 
> As always the characters are not mine but belong to Marvel. I'm just taking them out for a walk.


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